


The Hour - Wing!Fic - Unlocking the Mind

by Sam Miller (Samstown4077)



Series: Randall Brown / Bel Rowley Collection [3]
Category: The Hour
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, HuFlu, Modern AU, Peter Capaldi character, Romance, The Hour - Freeform, people with wings, there is a chance this will turn out quite philosophical, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:05:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Sam%20Miller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randall Brown leads the awarded news show of The Hour with his producer Bel Rowley in the 21st century at his side. A world in which people with wings are known but are unseen. Most people don't care, and Bel Rowley wants to change that, being interested in the topic ever since. It was the reason why Randall has hired her -- never telling her, that he is one. A wing-carrier. When he is about to lose the control over hiding his wings, they both have to deal with different truths. Romance. Metaphor. AU. Randall/Bel pairing. Unsure where this will go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I had this idea for quite a while. Have written an endless fic for another fandom, what I never published, and then as I am so in love with Randall I thought this could fit for him. Randall with wings -- why not. And also a romance with Bel Rowley, I pair him all too often with. I don't know where this will go and how fast I am going to write this. There is a chance my updates will be lousy as work and stuff keep me busy, but as always; I am going to give my best. 
> 
> If you expect white, feathered wings, you are wrong. This will be something else and .. give it a chance. It's also a modern AU, so it plays in the now, and so there will be slight changes in characterization fitting for the now time. There will be also no Freddie Lyon. He simply doesn't fit here. Also, I can't say if I will not let him show up as an outsider later, he will at least not be fitting into this story like he did in the show (with working with Bel all along, and being beaten up). I can imagine him being an ex of Bel, but from a few years ago. 
> 
> Enjoy, and don't ever hesitate to leave a comment. You can always message me of how you think things should play out. I always love fresh ideas!

The smog laid over London like a thick heavy blanket, lulling the town into a cold mist, and the feeling of being separated from the rest of the world.

No one was seen on the street, everyone seemed to have searched shelter from the cold and thick fog. The dark and the lit street lamps gave the scene a surreal look. Like the town had fallen into a beauty sleep, ready to awake again when the sun and bright weather would return. In case, they ever would.

Between the street lamps the only small lit areas — like little islands — walked a figure with an unsteady step. Heavy shoulders making the shadow — not more it would have been for the observer — bow forward, cringing. Here and there the man stopped by one of the islands, resting a hand on the cold metal and resting his hurting body, the back and shoulders in particular.

To ease the pain his hand came up, trying to rub the tense muscles through the thick fabric of his coat. A useless endeavour. And so, with a silent groan the man walked on, stumbling home, a briefcase in hand, a hat on. A coat veiling his lean figure. Grey material in grey fog.

After a felt eternity the man reached the entrance of his building, slumping against the door frame while fumbling for the key.

Living on the third floor was not an advantage at this moment, as every step hurt and for a moment he thought he would pass out right in the middle of the staircase. A fatal happening with unsure consequences and so the man dragged himself to his apartment door with last willpower and was glad that he was able to open it without much problem.

And when the door had fallen shut, Randall Brown just shoved his coat and jacket down, in the hall, no strength to being bothered by it.

Stumbling into his bedroom, where he loosened his tie, the vest and as last act, he tugged his shirt away and fell flat forward into his bed.

He fell asleep unable to make his body obey. His wings now resting on the outside of his body, bathing the room in a gentle, toned blue light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit about wings and hinting how and when Randall got his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I was writing around a few bits and pieces, but never was able to post it because I was busy.   
> I still keep it vague. This and the next chapter is more about Randall and his past, before we move on to the now and Bel.

It wasn’t unnatural. It happened here and there. People having wings. Not real wings, though. Maybe that was the most unnatural, that it wasn’t something out of flesh, bones and feathers, but something out of … light?

 

Light. 

 

Sometimes only white. Sometimes grey, or grey on the back where they came out, turning white toward the tip of it. Also green, or yellow. Some had been seen with red ones, but it seemed a rare colour. Followed by blue. 

It was all a mystery somehow. Even with colours. Not that one could find two people with yellow wings (out of light) at the same time, at the same spot in the world to put them aside each other — something utterly impossible — and the world just has gotten used to it. 

 

If one could, the yellow colour wouldn’t have been the same. Because the colour was living, breathing. Changing. It was light or smoke in the end. And like the sun bathed the land in warm red in the morning in the summer and a cold blue in the winter, the wings changed too. It was strange. Everything was.

 

Randall had mused over it for now almost 35 years. Why his wings were blue. Why he not really could fly with them and why he had them in general. 

He had been an ordinary young man till one day; he was 22; he woke up with them. It had been the time of the Lebanon War, and the first big crisis where he had reported from. 

 

Coming from the working class, Randall had fought his way up into University, working two jobs sometimes to pay the bills and to fill the fridge. There were days when there was nothing more as a bit of bread in it, giving him the figure he still had. Lean. Sometimes too thin. But he managed. Working as a journalist had been everything he ever wanted to do in life, and so Randall took the deep blows of life and made them his ally. 

At the end working hard made him better, and being better got him his first serious job where he could prove himself. 

Not only prove himself, but he also could leave everything behind. London. England. All those snobbish, arrogant wannabe journalists from Oxford or Cambridge, and their hypocrite rules and concepts. 

At that time, 1982, he worked for a third class newspaper, who desperately searched for someone who would be willing to go into the Lebanon, reporting from there. Taking pictures and at the same time staying alive. 

And because Randall was young, foolish and reckless he agreed to go there for less money and more experience. 

He arrived in July underpaid, not knowing much about guns, without ever having seen a dead body and left in October, able to disassemble and assemble a rifle in under a minute, having seen too many people die and with wings. Dark blue, translucent wings, that made funny little, low wheezing sounds when he moved them. 

 

In another life and another world he would have been probably shocked, not that he wasn’t but after getting over the first aghast eyebrow raise of his, he quickly got used to them.

 

People with wings existed. Not in the open public, but hidden. Living a quiet, secluded life, away from cameras, away from curious questions. Hiding. That was, what Randall called it. Most wing-carriers hid. There was not one who lived a public life, who showed the wings openly. Not even after people had found out. One could hide the wings, carry them inside, but earlier or later it seemed beyond the control of the carrier to hide them forever. 

 

There had been once a financial minister, somewhere in the early eighties, before Randall had gotten his wings, close to his fifties. People claimed him already for the next prime minister. There was no doubt of it, and then it happened. In the middle of a debate, the man almost collapsed, and in front of 100 people his dark lilac wings burst out. 

 

A week later the man was gone. Vanished. Not completely, but for most of the people who didn’t ask questions he was gone. For some reason, Randall had kept an eye and ear on the story, interested what had happened to him. Why? Another question he asked himself at that time and also later, and after years of having his wings he concluded that it had been in him. The wings, and what made one to a wing-carrier. Whatever it was that made one to a carrier.

 

He found out the man had left into the Scottish Highlands, living a low life as a carpenter, close to a small town. Far away enough to make people title him a loner — but a good carpenter. 

Randall had travelled to the village, spending a couple of days there. It was his luck being Scottish; it opened up some mouths, and he heard some stories. There were some rumours but nothing serious. When he had mentioned the wings, they just shrugged at him. They didn’t care. As if the mentioning made them get a blurry sight. What did they care? Also, why to hide it then?

 

Randall never understood. The people being interested in what kind of haircut an almost unknown celebrity was wearing, or with what kind of woman the prime minister had been seen with — being unmarried, where was the problem? The people were all about gossip and scandals, and then there were those people with wings, and they just shrugged it off. 

For a stupid reason, Randall thought there was a spell. And it seemed to work for him too, because he never found the courage to go to the house by the hills, to knock at the door of the man and ask him directly about his wings. About what he wanted to do for the rest of his life? Since when he had the wings or if he had any idea why he had them.

 

Not that he had been afraid because Randall was rarely afraid of much. Foremost not of asking questions, but after three days he shrugged and left again. But he kept an eye on articles and the news for the topic.

 

So it had always been in his life, and maybe that it was, why he wasn’t that shocked. Also, he wished he had someone to talk about it, but there was no one. He didn’t know someone with wings, but as soon as he had them, there was something else. A feeling of knowing. A sensing of others with wings. 

In general, there were not many, it was rare to see someone with wings, and not only because the people kept their “gift” a secret, but because the number — even only guessed — wasn’t high. 

The first time he had such sensing, was him being in the end of his twenties, and he was walking around Glasgow, being on holiday and spending some days away from the trouble of London, when he passed a group of people and for a moment it was as if all his senses went wild. A wheezing in his ears, a prickling in his body and a flowery smell in his nose. A flicker in his eyes that made him spin around on the spot, catching sight of a man, that seemed to have felt the same, but had recovered quicker from the surprise as Randall, hurrying away. 

 

Gasping for some air, Randall had pushed his way through the people to follow the man. When they landed in a more quiet street, he dared to call out to him, “Sir! Please, stop! Hey, Mister!”

 

Randall was quicker by foot, the man already old, and so he came to a halt by himself and also by a grasp of Randall’s hand. Randall felt a tingle in the tips of his fingers, something he had never felt before. With wide open eyes, the men shared a look.

 

“Let go of me!” the man hissed quietly, shuffling away. It was not directly fear, but something close to it, and so Randall let go but made sure he would not run away.

 

“I need to talk to you,” a young Randall sputtered all unusual, but the happening had given his mind a kick. He knew there was something important in front of him, and if he wouldn’t reach out to it, there might never come a chance again to find out more about his wings.

 

“I can’t help you,” the older man only said, but didn’t attempted to run away. 

 

Randall gave him a glance over. The man didn’t fit into the middle of Glasgow. His boots were old, slightly dirty, and his jacket wasn’t made for the town but the country. Everything matched the profile of a carrier, living a secluded life away from the people. 

 

“What are you doing in town?” Randall asked, not even earning a bewildered look. He was on the right track. The man in front of him had hidden wings.

 

“That’s none of your business,” the man answered, looking around nervously, his shoulders moving in circles. Something, back then, Randall couldn’t process yet. At this age, his wings obeyed him, hid when he wanted them to hide. “What is it you want?”

 

“You know what I want, you felt it too, didn’t you?” Randall stepped closer. “Please, I never met someone before who has them too.”

 

The man hesitated for a second, gave Randall now a glance over, with a following frown. Randall came from the town, didn’t live a hiding life. 

 

For a moment the younger man believed he could read confusion in the eyes of the older. Before he could ask the old man interrupted his thoughts.

 

“-Whatever you want to know, I can’t help you. I know nothing. They are there; that’s it. They don’t go away. That’s it too.”

 

“But…,” Randall watched the man start to walk away from him. “But have you never wondered?”

 

That made the stranger stop, and turn around to Randall with the most confused expression, “Wondered?” his eyes disconnected from him, to land on the pavement. His question had made him think. As if a thought, buried deep down, had been touched, about to make it come to life. For a few seconds, Randall had hope, and then the man shook himself, pushing the concerns, the seed of doubt Randall was about to sow, away again. 

 

“I can’t help you, I am sorry,” but before he vanished again, he found at least some guilt to gave Randall some more advice. “Nobody knows. They are there, for whatever reason. We choose a silent life because the day will come you can’t control them anymore and we not want the others to know too much about us.”

 

“How can you tell? You say we are alone, but you say ‘we’!”

 

“You’ll find out. It’s in you; you’ll know like you knew I have them,” with sorrow in his eyes the man licked his lips and said before turning away, “They guide us.”

 

With this cryptic message Randall had been then left behind. More puzzled as before. With an exhausted and disappointed sigh he turned around again. 

 

Something in Randall told him there was more, he just had to look closer, do some research. The problem was, the topic was more a myth as anything else. In six years he had met only one other person with wings, and it hadn’t brought him forward one bit.

It was frustrating to no end and Randall sighed over a glass of good whiskey, musing that maybe it was so, that there were no answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos yet - aside you guys haven't read much .. so that really sets me under pressure ;). I hope I can update soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall and his past with Lix Storm - herself also having a secret .

A few years later he met Lix. Alexis Storm.

Her name said it all. The first time he saw her in this one and only bar in Croatia, he couldn’t know she would become the one storm in his more or less settled life.

What he knew — what he sensed — was that she was unique. Because Lix Storm was, of course, one of a kind. A woman with the guts to come to the war, one that frightened so many men already. The warning of her colleagues she just shrugged off, with a look that not only could show someone where his place was but also could make Randall smirk. Nothing he often did, so it meant a lot. She had balls and wit, and could down a way too full glass of pure Whisky straight face, drinking down men twice her size. A pack of Gauloises always at hand, like the expensive Leica that looked a bit battered, but Randall had heard of her before and the quality of her pictures.

A crisis somewhere in the world? Lix Storm could be found there. There was a legend about her going round, that she had walked into one of the biggest agencies in London, after hearing they wouldn’t send someone down into the Sudan. Too dangerous they had told her, not one wanted to go, and she had told them, if they were clever they would hire her, because she had the balls, the others didn’t. A year later she got awarded for her photo documentation, being just 24.

Lix Storm was not only unique because she was more intelligent and witty, and a lot more beautiful as all her male colleagues, but because Randall felt all his senses tingle once again, after years of nothingness.

Lix Storm -- a wing-carrier.

And she gave a damn about it. Not that she carried her wings outside, but as soon as she was in her room she let them out, let them how they pleased. How Randall knew? Because after one week of watching her from the corner of the bar counter, she had lost her patience, had rolled her eyes pulling out the barstool aside her, “Come on then. You drink. I drink. Let’s drink together, but you keep your questions till later.”

“Later?” he only had wondered, finding himself three hours later tangled up with her. Kissinger her warm and whisky tainted lips. Their bodies pressed against the cold wall on the dirty floor of the building they all lived as if there was no tomorrow. Being in a war there maybe was no.

He had to struggle not to lose all control, while her fingers unbuttoned his shirt, knowing just one aim in that heated night.

“Lix,” he had murmured against the salty spot between her neck and shoulder. His teeth scraping over her skin, while pressing her hard against his yearning body.  
She might be leading the way, but he most definitely wouldn’t follow like a little lamb. He knew a little about women, and he dared to say he knew a little about women like Lix. Not that he ever had an affair with one. Till now.  
With a buzz in his head from the whisky and the way she made clear to him that she wanted him in her room -- her bed, the floor or the wall — it didn’t matter to her -- he gave in, and realised it didn’t matter to him either where he would unity with her.

For a passionate moment, he forgot about his questions and his concerns, sensing he was safe with her. He was able to hide his wings during the day, but there was a moment he couldn’t hide them, where they didn’t obey him. Then when he lost control over himself. In the pleasure of making love, having sex. Coming. Dying a little.

“You have wings,” he whispered hoarsely after shutting the door of her room from the inside, pressing her against it, and before dropping to his knees.

Randall didn’t let her answer, pulling down her army trousers and knickers, shoving one of her legs over his shoulders, taking the lead. He would get an answer, his way.

Almost two decades later, Randall would finally grasp, that those times, the times he loved her with his body and soul, and all too often shagged her against the mattress, where the only times he ever had some sort of control over his life with her.

When Lix came under his ministrations the first time, even she wasn’t able to keep her wings inside in the moment of greatest pleasure, and so the light slowly started to billow out of her, while her climax rose. His one hand on her back, holding her still, he felt the vague feeling of warmth that the wings inherited. Like curled fog it crawled out of her. In a dark red.

Lix Storm had red wings, and of course, she had, Randall thought. There was no other colour more fitting, knowing already that it was a rare one.

Her wings looked different as his own, who still rested inside of him. His were wider, edgier and hers rounder in the corner, fuller. He dared to say more feminine.  
Randall had no comparison, but it didn’t surprise him that they all seemed different, beginning by the colour ending by the form.

She looked so beautiful to him, and he must have looked way too besotted, as she, when finally coming down her orgasm, pushed him backwards, toward the bed, “Stop looking like a fool. Get on with it!” her wings fluttering as if to underline her words.

Oh, she had him already in her hand. Instead of saying something, the only thing he could do was snog the sense out of her, hold her tight, make her wings flutter in excitement when he took off her clothes, and she his.

She had been on top of him, taking him in before he was properly sitting, so greedy they had been for each other.

It told him that aside Lix was straightforward and not afraid of anything or anyone, she also tried to keep her wings a secret, what meant to hold back the passion that ran through them. There was a mindset all wing-carriers seemed to share.

The love making became an almost daily repeat. Together they clung at the last bit of life -- the last bit of pleasure it seemed to have in store for them, after long days of reporting. After watching the world burn, and people flee from conflicts, guns and brutality.

Not that Randall ever had been the type for it, because sometimes he was just too tired, but Lix was different. Again. She knew how he became when he drank, and so she made him drink. And he didn't fight it off because he was in love with her, and the feeling while sleeping with her — having her warm skin against his, was payback for him. For all the horrible things he had gone through in his times in Croatia.  
While Lix clung to life in general, like good whisky and great sex, Randall had set his heart on Lix because she was the one and only beautiful 'thing' in this horrible place and he adored her.

“You love me, don’t you?” she leant against the wall, dragging at a cigarette in her left and holding a glass with liquor in her right. It sounded like she commented on a semi-good picture she had taken — moments before throwing it away. Her wings floating behind her, the tips touching the floor, and he watched the faint curls of red smoke disappear into thin air, awaiting it would mix up with the smoke of her cigarette. It never did. It never could.

“Why you never hide them?” Randall asked instead. He didn’t have to say yes because they both knew it was so.

Lix had been able to read him like a book from day one, so she knew how he was, how he ticked and that he got advances from a few local women here and there, but had them all declined. In contrary to his colleagues, some of them shagging different girls every night. The only one he wanted was Lix, and he was also aware that he was the only man she spent time with. The wings weren’t the main reason for that — there were ways to sleep with others without letting them find out about the stigma.

Lix puffed the smoke out, shrugging, “Why do you hide them? It’s just you and me, what’s the matter? You are afraid of them.”

He waited a bit too long with his answer, “No…, I just don’t know what to make of them.”

“Make nothing of them,” she waltzed over to him, and after regarding him with a mischievous look, she flopped down aside him.

Randall was still naked, only wearing his boxers, sitting at the edge of the bed, and Lix laid now behind him, the cold glass in her hand trailing between his shoulder blades. It made him flinch away and groan. Lix grinned and replaced the glass with her warm fingertips.

“Do you never let them out?”

“Sometimes,” he sighed, frowning what made his face look harsh. “When I sleep,” and added quickly, when he noticed Lix wanted to disagree, “alone.”

“Mhh,” her hand retreated and she flopped down completely, her head on the pillow now. Her wings under her, not bound to physical laws, hovering through the bed and under it. “So?”

He turned his head, knowing she had switched back to the original topic, locking eyes with her. Randall already knew he indeed was this semi-good picture, about to be disposed sooner or later. “Does it matter?”

“Here? In this dirty hole? This place that’s probably closest to hell right now? Probably not,” she broke the contact, staring at the ceiling.

Randall kept looking at her, one of his hands resting now close to her, there where one wing was resting. He couldn't feel it, and still believed he did, but Lix never had and would make them touchable for him.  
Something those wings could become. Tactile, only when the carrier it wanted.  
Maybe Lix didn’t know how, but he couldn’t believe that, and assumed she didn't want him to touch — also he never asked.  
“It does,” the answer finally came, and Randall’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “For me it does.”

It robbed him off his words, this moment of Lix Storm being all vulnerable, all open, and because he couldn’t allow him to put his feelings into words, he let his wings out. Slowly, silent, and the gesture earned a smile from her that almost could be read as lovingly.

The affair was ridiculous and short. With consequences.

Sofia. Lix felt it would be a girl, and the only thing Randall could do was ask her out of the blue to marry him, knowing she would decline.  
She did, and he nodded, accepting her decision and all the others that would come. Not him nor she could keep the baby, and to make it away, that wasn’t Lix. The child deserved a chance, just not with her parents. Both reckless workaholics and a war was no place for a child. They agreed on both of it.  
That was the time he retreated from her, and she drifted away from him, and one night he told her he would return to London only to leave to the next trouble spot in the world soon.  
She’d do the same, Lix told him, going to Spain probably, knowing a couple that would love to adopt a child.

He agreed, only to regret it years later greatly. But back at that time, he was still young, and still stupid and selfless enough to leave first Lix behind and then his own daughter.

Around a year later he received a letter from her, telling him the child was well and that she had no wings - yet.  
Randall had expressed his worries about it, never having heard of two wing-carriers having a child. What would that make her then?

It relieved him to know she hadn't had wings the moment she was born. Also, he guessed, there was a big chance she one day would have some. That they would grow out of her like they had grown out of her father and mother before.

Holding the letter from Lix in hand, it was probably the first moment he regretted to have left. Knowing he wouldn’t be there when the girl would ask questions one day.  
If she was a carrier, she would sense that the couple Lix had chosen, weren’t her real parents. Maybe a child even knew without having wings — Randall couldn’t tell, and he forbid himself for years to think about it.

The whiskey helped him to forget. Sometimes Randall was so drunk, he didn’t even remember having wings, and looking back at the time he couldn’t say how he made it without being discovered.

With Lix gone and him tumbling through the crisis in the world, without being smarter about his wings, he didn't know what to do with his life.

In the end, he returned home to England, taking a job and an office, away from guns and violence, always having an eye on the one woman he had loved so much. Lix Storm became a name that went around the globe, and while he watched her run around it, he mostly stayed in London or Glasgow. Sometimes a bit of Europe and once or twice the Middle East. Always making sure Lix wasn't there at those moments.

His wings letting him live, never really bugging him, and because he felt the need to proof that he wasn't afraid of them, he let them out here and there. At home, in his private walls -- the curtains drawn. Finding himself watching them flutter around for hours. As if there was a message in the ever changing flow of the blue colour.

 

There probably wasn't, but one couldn't stop watching the fire when it burned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I can't really write a story without mentioning Lix Storm, because I think this affair and the resulting pregnancy of Lix have crafted this Randall we all know.  
> I found the idea of her having wings too fascinating because it just fits for her in this story, and it gives me the possibility to tell about this wings from another perspective. She has a total different approach as Randall does. Not that she doesn't care like the others, but she has a "I give a fuck" attitude, but it's not like "I don't see them". I will go into this in later chapters. I have a plan for her and her wings.  
> I also give you here and there little details about those wings, but not a specific description of Randall's wings, this will follow in a later chapter. There I will describe the physicality and everything more, the danger of it is, of course, you all have a certain picture of it in mind then, and it will not fit when I give you a better visual, but I take that risk. I want to keep the wings a mystery. 
> 
> This chapter also ends a bit open. I might try to write more like giving you episodes that are not connected in time or continue in the next chapter. Not sure how this will work out in general. I need to try to be not too philosophical in this story. 
> 
> Thanks of you for leaving comments and kudos, I am always open for ideas. Don't be shy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We reaching the now. How Randall got the job as Head of News, and for his reasons. He meets his past again and then there is Bel Rowley...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it goes on ...

A few years later they met again. It wasn’t unintentional of him. He knew she was set for the foreign desk for a new news show called The Hour. 

The upper floors were looking for a Head of News, and his name had been in the orbit for a long while. Having a good and excellent reputation the BBC was very interested in giving him the job. After long years, the hard work he had done, the time he had invested, it finally paid off, and he got the offers that made himself tick. People asking him to do the job, not him having to ask for it. Not that Randall gave a damn about such influential standing, but he liked being at once in the position to freely choose. 

They had asked him to work in Paris, after the latest Head of News had been fired because of a drinking problem and also giving out information to another competitive news agency. And because Randall had been in an age that had told him, his time at the crisis points and the front lines of the world had finally come to an end for good; he gladly took the job in France. 

He worked it for almost five years, before getting the offer to come back to London, and he didn’t hesitate one moment, being at a point in his life, he needed a closer contact with Lix again. Since a while, he was looking for Sofia, with no luck and Lix was the only person able to help him.

She wouldn’t be pleased to hear that and to see him. Haven’t seen her for a very long time, but still knowing her all too well, he knew she had put that part of her deep down to sleep. 

 

Another reason to go back to London was that they offered him to choose who would be his producer. Three names - all good options - floated in the air, but he insisted on Bel Rowley. A younger, dedicated journalist, working for a smaller magazine. 

She had done some good stories in the past, and had a name in the world of news. Rowley seemed clever, witty and more as fitting for the job. 

Randall also knew she was very interested about the wing-carriers, making little stories here and there. She apparently tried to push the subject into open public, searching for willing carriers to give interviews, and here and there she had success. Nothing significant, always little, but considering the fact that there were so few, most living in secret it was a great deal. It was also a great deal because he never had heard of another news person wanting to do a story about it. Not like this, so insistent. Only when a public person got revealed as a wing-carrier, what happened every few years. So long, the media was dead so far. 

Bel unmistakably wanted to change it. Her efforts in that patch had earned her his - silent - respect and his personal interest for her reasons. 

Randall felt the need to know who this person was, what drove her to do this stories, seeking out the mysterious world of the wings and he hoped his gut told him the right thing — that they had similar motivation. Aside he already sensed she wouldn't have wings, but he couldn’t be sure and so he insisted on her to become his producer.

 

In the end, she hadn’t had wings, but Bel Rowley was a brilliant producer and a jewel when it came to wrapping a story, to talk to the right people or to kick some arses.

At their first day together, he had visibly confused her, making clear to her that he wanted to make news that would make people tick. Telling her he wanted to see her tick. 

Then he had shuffled around his two wooden elephants; he once had brought back from his days in the Senegal, for a bit --, leaving an unnerved Miss Rowley behind.

He had smirked to himself when he had found shelter in the elevator. A Randall Brown knew how to push people, keep them on their toes and he found amusement in it -- also never forgetting that in the end, it should make them better. 

It did with Bel, aside a few days later Lix had scolded him for his way with Bel. That the woman deserved a bit of respect, that she was a bloody good producer and he agreed with her.

 

In the end, they all fit right together. Bel came at ease with him, accepting his fidgeting with pens and thumbtacks. With his need of having straight lines and a clean desk. 

Or when he stood in her office with two cups of coffee in the morning or tea in the late afternoon to talk about the day — a ride they had developed over the time unintentionally—  turning to her blackboard only to rearrange the articles so they formed a more pleasant sight. After a while, he even dared to resort her books step by step and day by day. She hadn’t as much as he had, but it was a whole bookshelf and within three weeks he had them sorted by topic and in alphabetical order. 

 

Randall even was able to connect with Hector Madden -- their anchorman, with an apparent problem with alcohol and a hang for beautiful women — aside from being married. 

It needed hard work and Randall’s unique way of telling him he would find another more or less good looking face anytime who was also able to read the words from the teleprompter. 

Half a year later Hector was on the road for getting back into old form and being true to his wife. 

When they almost lost him to some Boulevard channel Randall had one of his softer moments, telling him behind closed doors, it would be sad to see him go. That there was more in the younger man as being used up on a shopping channel -- even it would make him rich. If it was his words or the words of Lix and Bel that made him stay, he never found out, but Hector remained — it was good that way.

 

And then the story with Lix happened. They both — not having seen each other for almost two decades — being a darn tragedy of their own. She knew he was up to something the moment he stepped into her small chaotic office, having a croissant on a plate, philosophising about “grieving the croissant” and missing Paris on some meta level.

She wouldn’t talk about the past; he could kindly leave her alone. He did. That day at least. Not without criticising her proper handling with the camera.    
It was a game between them. Probably always had been. Who would break down first, who would have the upper hand? So it had been in the bedroom when they had been younger as theses days, and now it was about blocking out feelings and a long necessary talk between them.

One thing was all the same. The tingling in his body when she was in the same room with him. Her wings — always hidden, unseen for the same amount of time he hadn’t seen her — distracting him. 

Randall could hold back for two weeks before he revealed to her one night why he had come back to London. 

Of course, Lix got angry, because Lix had been angry since the evening in Croatia when he had told her he would leave. Not because he was about to leave that night, but because she already knew he would — one day — return to her. Or she to him, or like it happened in the end, they would bump into each other, meet in an office — late at night. 

 

Unable to face the past, they were damned to repeat it in the end. 

 

She left in an uproar, only to give him the birth certificate he needed so desperately the next day. For a bit it seemed they would find a level to live with each other side by side. Not as a pairing, but as parents searching for the one thing that kept them connected. Their daughter Sofia.

When they found out that she was dead, the house of cards collapsed quickly. That she would come to him to tell him she would leave the Hour, he knew after he had found composer again. 

After raging in his office, throwing his laptop against the wall, later telling Bel he had been clumsy. (Not that she believed him, but she didn’t ask any questions.)

Three days later Lix indeed stood in his office, ready to tell him the resignation mail would be in his mailbox in an hour. That her things were packed -- she was ready to go. 

This time for good. No return planned. Not to The Hour and for certain not to him.

All of that he could read on her face. In the way she furrowed her brow, the way her lips pressed against each other till it only was a thin line. It amazed him how good he knew this woman still, after all those years of drama, separation and never done talks.

It was exactly what she told him after she told him something entirely different. That something had changed. Something that would change nothing at all and yet, change everything.

“There are gone,” she spoke. Not harsh, not loud, just without emotion.

The pen Randall held in his hand, hit the desk mat with a thud, still connected with his hand. 

He had heard the words, had understood them verbally but couldn’t grasp the meaning at all. 

Blinking a few times, he regarded her with a stone cold face. She was right. Gone. Like the feeling in his bones, the tingling that was usually always there. 

He hadn’t noticed because he had learned to block it out of his conscious mind. It was too unnerving when one concentrated too much on it.

Randall jumped up from his chair and strode around his desk toward her, “Gone? How?” He was close to grabbing her by the shoulders to turn her around, only to inspect her back and shoulder blades. As if this would do any good. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” she answered terse, reading in his eyes it was not enough as an answer. Lix knew about the meaning of it. She knew Randall would have done everything getting rid of his wings. If he could, he would tear them out or cut them off, whatever the pain would be. “I woke up two days ago and… gone.”

Randall broke the eye contact, calculating wildly. The day after they had found out about Sofia. It had to do something with her, the event, her death or whatever, “But-”

“-There is no ‘but’, Randall. They are gone,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. She did not want to discuss it. It was as it was. What did the reasons matter in the end? She couldn’t help him, and God knew she would if she could. Randall knew too. Also, she asked, “You?”

“Still,” and he rubbed his shoulders absently. Lix’s wings were gone, and his were nagging him since the same time.

They had before, but nothing he couldn’t control by giving them some space at home. 

Now the feeling was different. As if there was something under his skin, wanting to get out. Desperately. And because he couldn’t allow his wings to be what they were — a part of his body, they seemed to rebel, punishing him with pain and shoulder cramps. Nothing he could not bare, already knowing it would become more intense, till the moment he wouldn’t be able to bare it anymore. 

He needed a plan, and he was sad and disappointed that Lix couldn’t deliver one. In the end, it wasn’t her fault and deep down in his heart, he was happy for her.

So that day she left the office, having a job offer already in her pockets. It wasn’t another country, but the other side of town in a smaller newsroom, but with a good reputation. Working on the other side of the city iIn Londonoften felt like another country. They probably wouldn’t meet again if they not wanted.

To his surprise she gave him a quick hug, wishing him all the best. Maybe next life would be better for them. Without a war, without an unplanned child. “Yes,” was all he could answer before watching her leave his life forever.

Not that Randall had had hope that they would get back together — or more, getting together properly for the first time ever. 

Yet, her leaving made him feel low the next couple of days and also weeks. Lix had been the only person who he knew who had had wings, and who he knew so very good and now… he was alone again. 

Alone again with his wings and more alone with the questions Lix’s leaving and her losing of the wings had urged onto the surface for him. 

It robbed him off his sleep, let alone his wings starting to act weird and didn’t stop hurting. He had hoped it was only for a few days or so, as the now inevitable loss of his daughter had left a deep mark in him and it was understandable that his body acted up on it, and so did his wings. Instead of getting better, the pain and the nagging feeling became more insistent. 

The only thing that eased the discomfort was letting out his wings more often. First he only let them out at home, the moment he had closed the door behind him, but with time he needed to make breaks in the office too. He always used to lock his door then, giving himself a mental break for five or ten minutes, letting his wings run free. Letting them flutter a bit before he urged them back into their cover. 

 

His being unwell went, of course, unnoticed. Randall had learned to cover up the pain, what was sometimes all too easy regarding his usual stern mine. Most of his people couldn’t tell the difference between him being serious and him making a fine joke. 

Also, there were exceptions.

Bel Rowley was one. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I wish I knew where this will go.. but I write it in baby steps... I hope you guys hang with me and be patient! Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall musing over his wings and Bel Rowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I am so sorry for the late update. I had some very busy weeks at work and last week I was on vacation in hope to find time to write a bit. Screw that. It was just visiting friends and family and I booked the one house in the woods where there was the worst WiFi connection ever. I hope now I an update more recent again. 
> 
> In this chapter I finally give a closer look to the wings, how they appear and stuff. I have already another chapter sitting around but it doesn't fit yet. But, I promise for another update soon!

Slowly waking, Randall gave a long groan into the pillow his face was pressed. He couldn’t remember how he had managed to come home last night. The pain in his back had given him nausea and the feeling as if he had a knife inside his back. Being twisted with no pause.

It had been a horrible day at work. Stressful and the unnerving feeling of his wings that seemed desperate to come out, turned around noon from a strange feeling into slow growing pain. By five he was close to hitting his head against his table surface. 

For a moment he had thought about letting them out, just for a bit, but he had experienced the day before that after he banned them back inside, they, even more, wanted to get out. Afraid of losing control he not allowed them and hurried out the office by five. It had earned him a few suspicious looks. Randall Brown was no one for leaving that early. 

 

“You okay?” Bel had asked, after he had stopped at her door, telling her he had to go home for an appointment. Dentist — he had forgotten about it. 

 

Bel Rowley had cocked an eyebrow at him, feeling something was off, because Randall was no one for forgetting anything. Once she had told him, he was a bit like an elephant. Deliberately touching one of the wooden ones on his desk.

 

Giving her a genuine smile about the comment, “I can assure you, I am not.”

 

Randall was glad Bel didn’t push further. He knew he looked bad, had rubbed his shoulders all day, and as Bel was a good observer, she knew he was in pain. 

 

He remembered falling into bed, with his wings out, now they weren’t and a stitching pain tortured him. The pain jerked from his shoulders down to his back, and he had to grunt into the pillow. Like a cat, he bent his back , biting into the cotton fabric with his teeth. The pain seemed impossible to endure.

“No-," he whispered, sweating heavily, "just no." The flesh on his back felt like bursting. After fighting a couple more seconds against his pain and his inner nature, it happened — it had to happen.

His wings. Out of the middle of Randall’s scapulas, nearly exploding, as great swirling and rushing sounds filled the room. No feathers, just light: a blue, shiny, translucent light. Like endogenous fire in the beginning and curled smoke at the periphery. They started at the centre of his back as a flame, like ice, only to curl outwards as wisps of smoke, slowly forming into something more recognisable. Each side now slowly spread to their full six-foot length. 

 

They hovered in the dim light and Randall watched them do. After the first outburst and when Randall didn't control them or spread the wings to full length, they had their own entity. Like fog hanging in the air, only commanded by earth and wind. They were a mix of light, smoke, and fire, all in facets of a navy blue hanging in the room, slightly pushing themselves up and down — soundless.

 

Finally catching his breath after a few minutes he glanced once again over his shoulder. His wings had settled gently over him, like a blanket. With a sigh, he realised he was still wearing his trousers. At least, he had been able to remove his jacket and the shirt, only wearing his undershirt. 

How should he manage when this would go on? To his relieve the pain was gone and he felt normal. Still tired, a bit off — he hadn’t eaten properly the day before, let alone drink enough — but he was okay. Knowing it would change the moment he would make his wings go away again he decided to keep lying like this in bed for a bit more. It was the weekend, and there was luckily no appointment he had to go to. 

 

Letting his mind wander, he found himself drift back to the moment he had excused himself at Bel’s door. 

Bel Rowley. The girl with an interest in wing-carriers. Clever. Witty. One of the best producers he ever had. Short; he liked her. 

 

Eyes closed, his forehead fell into wrinkles. He liked her. Professional of course. Among other things. 

He knew her now around two years. Together they had built up the Hour, had sailed that news-flagship of the BBC through some heavy storms. Sometimes at a sacrifice, but always successful at the end. 

Over time they had grown together, as a team, and he had liked that. It was always good when the right hand knew what the left was doing and vice versa. When there was some understanding, of how and why someone did something. After some rough first few months, they had come to an understanding with the other. A particular trust. It was good for them, the show and the team. 

 

Before Lix left, he had already developed some nice routines with Bel, like having coffee or sorting her bookshelf. He not only did it because her shelf was a mess but because he wanted to know who she was. What more could help him here as to rummage through the books she usually read. Most, of course, had a connection with the work, but here and there some were out of the ordinary. 

A weakness for the esoteric, gardening and travel, he found in the block of books. Probably books she had brought from home, reading while sitting on the bus or while a moment of rest. A habit he did himself sometimes. 

 

When Lix had left, he fell into a little hole of sadness and desperation. One or two weeks he was off, and to distract himself he somehow started to watch Bel. And why not? She was a cheerful person. A whirlwind, dedicated and full of energy and good mood. When he was short of a smile, he turned to her, finding her smile at him, or telling him about a new idea or a new story for the show. Excited. About to carry him along. Always 100 percent — not one less. 

Somewhere there he had realised that he liked her company a little bit too much and that she was not only brilliant but also beautiful. 

 

‘Of course, she is beautiful,’ he rubbed his face into the pillow, and his wings did a flutter. She was a bit over 30 that he knew, and he was 54. Not that he had ever had any preferences for younger women, and he never would say a woman his age wouldn’t look good, because Lix was still beautiful to him, but with Bel, there was something different. 

There was Sally too, the girl from the front desk, she was 20, and so much younger as him. Smaller as Bel, brown haired, lovely and yes, beautiful for the standards, but… Randall never ever looked at the girl and thought the way he did when looking at Bel. 

 

He was attracted to Bel, that was the difference, and it made him groan again. How could he even think of it? About her, a colleague. He shouldn’t! An old geezer he was. There was not the slightest chance, there he was sure, because Bel could be easily his daughter, and he was sure she dated some nice looking gentleman her age. 

Yes, she smiled at him, shared those moments with him, but this didn’t mean anything. A woman could be nice and friendly with a man without wanting something more as a friendship. He was aware of that. Bel was a modern woman, not one of those single-minded people who would tut at her and him if they would be seen aside work. 

Also, sometimes when they ended the day, just sometimes he had the feeling she kept standing a wee bit too long in his office as she waited for something. A question maybe. An invitation. For coffee? 

And sometimes when he believed that she did so, that it was a proper doing with agenda and not just coincidence, he tried to scrap all his courage together so he would ask her. 

Randall never did, and instead, he kept standing a few seconds awkwardly around by her door gaping like a fish, before he wished her a good night or a good weekend. 

If he hadn’t the problems he had at the moment he might allow him to muse a bit longer about the woman, but for the moment, he hadn’t the strength. It was definitive she wasn’t interested and never would. Him, an old bachelor. More a lone wolf as anything else. Let alone his wings. He knew he couldn’t have a romantic relationship with a woman when he wanted to keep them a secret.

Another long sigh. There were more urgent matters at the moment as thinking about if it was a good idea to ask Bel Rowley for a cup of coffee outside work. Her finding out about his wings wouldn’t help a bit. Yes, she was interested in the matter, but she couldn’t possibly know he was one of those people she found so fascinating. 

Randall was sure she would be scared and couldn’t understand what was wrong with him because there he was sure. Something was wrong with him. Why else would he have those wings then? Why did they act up like this? Now! When he thought, he was ready for a new chapter in his life. With Lix gone and the knowledge of his daughter dead, he had believed that all this sorrow could help him to close a door and open a new one. 

Not with the wings, they would either give him pain or make him go away. Live like a monk or something, because that’s what they all did.

The thoughts made Randall angry, and he pushed his body up with his hands and arms. His muscle in his back tense he glared at his wings. With a low sound, they started to stretch, extend. And then, for a second Randall lost his sane mind, and whirled with his body around as if he could grab them. As if flopping hard on his back, would break them in parts, make them fall off of him. It didn’t. 

 

Instead, the foggy blue curls became a graspable form for a moment, pushing a vase and a few things from the sideboard close to his bed. The porcelain shattering on the carpet, the water creating a dark spot there, the half limp flowers flying through the room and leaving a half raging, half desperate Randall behind. On the bed, on his back, his blue wings settling aside him again, slightly spread as if nothing had happened. 

 

Suppressing a roar he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, till it hurt. Again there was a mental picture of Bel in front of him. It made him relax and give a single sob at the same time. No. It was a decision he made. Her of all, mustn’t know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for staying with this fic!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel regarding Randall. She knows he seems to be interested. What is she thinking about him?

 

She had to admit, — and she didn’t like to admit — in the beginning, she couldn’t do anything with him. His way, his fiddling, the reserved nature that he was. While being forward as Head of News and strange, but effective with his leading. No, Bel Rowley simply couldn’t with Randall Brown in the beginning. 

For some reason it had been her, he had wanted for the job as a producer. Something, one from the upper floors had told her. She hadn’t been the first choice, but Randall had insisted on her, brushing all the other names off the table. 

Unsure if she should feel lucky or disappointed over it, she had decided after a month or two, that she simply had to accept it. She was good, she knew her value, and she had the job obviously not only because she was hardworking and successful, but because Randall had a preference for her. She didn’t need the blessing of the upper floors; sure she had shown by now that she was better as all the others they had in mind. 

That was Bel, always in need to want to convince every one of her — on the first day. One of her flaws, wanting too much in too short of time. Randall had pointed it out here and there. Subtle. 

At first, she didn’t understand and then with time and some (media) crises they went through, she had learned to read him, to grasp his way of working. So did he, and after a rocky start, they turned out to be a good team. 

 

When she entered his office to talk with him about some upcoming topics she caught sight of him, rubbing his shoulders absently. Something she had noticed for quite a while. First she thought, he had back problems. Not that she could exclude that, but seeing the workload he did, the many conferences he had to attend, and having this particular important position, she guessed it just got to him. No rest and just work. 

There had been times she had suffered under her tense back and cramps in her shoulders, before deciding to do a bit of yoga at least twice a week. And when no one watched she did some silly looking gymnastic in her office. It helped so far.

As she couldn’t be so forward asking Randall to join her in her yoga class, she returned to her office, grabbing a bottle of water out of her drawer, and returned.

“Here,” she placed the bottle with a soft thud onto his desk, making him look up from the computer. First at the bottle, then at her, and then again at the bottle. Bel gestured at his hand, that was still on his shoulder, his fingertips digging into his muscles. “I've seen you do this all day long. And I don’t see any water here, so… it might help you keep hydrated.”

Taking his hand away slowly, he leaned back in his chair, taking his glasses off for a moment regarding her. 

She was right, he hadn’t any water in his office, only using the tap in the tea kitchen. Usually forgetting to drink enough. “Thank you. I am indeed too careless with myself," he admitted and placed the frame back.

He stood up and walked to his locker, getting out a glass he had there in store, before filling it with the water Bel had brought him.

“God, Randall, you work too much and you have too less of a private life, am I right?” she then stated. A thought she had in her head so long already, and now it seemed to be the time to let it out. Whatever the reaction would be.

It always made him a little nervous when she was so straightforward with him. It always remembered him at Lix, and Lix was, well, the one kind of person he had fallen for very hard. Even it had been the wrong time, the wrong place and mostly under the wrong conditions.

“There is a chance I am,” he answered then, not knowing what to say else, because he wasn’t that kind of person who talked a lot about his private life.

He knew, that nobody knew anything about him. What he would do after he left the office, because he never told anything about himself. Like an inner block. Not that he ever wanted to tell anyone that he liked to cook or liked to watch some old black and white movies on the telly.

Not till Bel. With her it had become different. From one day to the other he wanted to tell her about it all. About him going to the parks on the weekends for taking pictures with his old Leica. A remnant from his times with Lix together in the War. 

She had gotten herself a new one, and had given him her old one. One of the few things she had given him for good. Not her heart, but then… when he thought long enough about the gesture, putting it into the relation of her being a full-blood photographer, the camera might had been very close to a heart. 

In the end he couldn’t tell, it didn’t do good and so he just pressed the shutter without thinking about Lix too much. It was just a camera.

So this it was what he wanted to tell Bel, but he didn’t know how. Walk in her office and tell her about his past time? How would that look? Probably not much surprising.

He knew how he could be sometimes. How riddlesome. Bel and him, they had their encounters. Little talks. Surprising reactions. It was all there, and yet, he just couldn’t.

In the end, when they finished talking about the job, he stared at her like a foolish boy, telling himself to just ask her something personal. As example what she did in her past time. Or if she could recommend a movie. Chit-chat. That’s what people did. 

Knowing when he would ask her such question it would make Bel go all curious, because he was sure she guessed he spent his time at home handcraft little aircrafts or wash his hands till they bled. 

Instead of asking her he stared, opening his mouth like a fish for a second before starting to fumble with a pen or one of his elephants. Usually this was the moment she would shrug, roll her eyes, and then leave. For her, so he assumed, he was Randall the unteachable. Untouchable.

That day, after she had given him the bottle of water, he tried again to urge some questions onto his tongue, and while waiting for her to roll her eyes, something else happened.

Because on  _ some  _ days,  _ some  _ people just decide otherwise. Out of a whim, or because there was a little itch, or whatever. 

Instead of Bel Rowley rolling her eyes, she stepped forward, pushing her hands into her sides looking down at him in such judging way that he was afraid for a second. All questions gone of course.

“Sally celebrates her birthday tonight,” she then began. Deliberately looking away, turning to his bookshelves. “We are all invited. Down at the bar. You should come,” She turned back to him for the last part.

Randall swallowed. He should come. It was an advice, but sounded like an order. Not in a harsh way, more in a gentle way. A gentle order then. He swallowed again, the pen between his fingers slipped and landed with verve on the desk mat. He should come.

Seconds went by in which Bel could see that his mind had gone blank over her bold words. She knew there was a good chance he would come. For the first time ever. Usually by now, he would have told her that he couldn’t. Because he wasn’t drinking — a dry alcoholic, an open secret, everybody was cool about —  or because there was this conference he had to go the next day or because he had to work late. 

She was sure he had a whole booklet of excuses saved in some part of his brain, he always could revert to when necessary. In silence she counted the seconds. 

Five. And a faint smile grew on her lips. 

Bel Rowley wasn’t stupid. She had noticed. The way he looked at her. Something had shifted in him since Lix had left the office, moving to another company across town. 

First she had thought, she was imagining things, but then again he lingered in her office a tad too long, looked at her this one important second too long and most of all had lost a bit of his impartiality, giving her a wee bit more right in a discussion as the others. 

Then, he was lost with his words — he had always been at the end of their conversations, but with time she had noticed little interrupts in his flow when talking about a topic for Hector or something else work related. Only when it was just him and her. As if Bel would intimidate him on some level. She had noticed.

For a day she wanted to tell herself that she should be shocked about it. Randall Brown being interested in her. What was he? Way over fifty? Twenty years easily separated them. Then again, when she watched him blatantly while the morning conference — there no one would notice — it didn’t seem that scandalous. 

Randall was a fine looking man. Always polite. Correct but not in a bad way. Unnerving sometimes, but she always felt it was for the better of the story. He wasn’t their Head of News for nothing. 

Yes, his hair was grey already. Almost. There were still streaks of black between the grey curls. Bel had to admit she liked those curls. In the beginning, he used to have some product in his hair to tame the locks, only to look like someone who had fallen out of a fifties telly show. 

After Lix had left, the product had become lesser and lesser till it seemed he used just a bit of it. It had been a slow process, but she had noticed. Maybe she had fancied his curls long before she had to admit to herself that she could easily fancy  _ him _ . 

Not that it had been a choice. After she had noticed his glances, she concentrated on him, and suddenly she was aware of his soft Scottish brogue. Her ears out of a sudden were always detecting him even she wasn’t in the same room. 

The way he used to fiddle with his glasses or his pen while the conferences — something she found soon adorable. 

Finding ease in the way he sorted news article on a pinboard or just the magnets there. Let alone the way he sorted her books in her office. 

The most adorable thing she had ever seen was him smiling proudly at his work when putting the last book into order — after weeks of shuffling the things around here and there. A faint smile, a gleam in his eyes and she almost got caught admiring him.

Lix probably would have went haywire over it. The older woman always had loved her chaos and woe betide anyone who would try to bring some order into it. 

Bel instead found it soothing, and she liked to watch him do it. He didn’t do it in someone else's office and it told her, he was familiar enough with her, trusted her enough, to be courageous enough to do as he liked. 

She remembered clearly when he had stepped over to her bookshelf the first time, his breathing holding still for a moment, after seeing the chaos in it. While talking to her his hand reached out, and then, an inch before touching one of the spines, he seemed to have had felt her questioning eyes on him. 

Looking at her, he had cocked an eyebrow at her. A silent question with a nervous tap of his finger against the shelf, and she had needed a few seconds to understand, before she had made a gesture with her hand. Only catching on the next day, that she had given him permission.

Project bookcase now on the run, and even she wanted it to stop she couldn’t have said how.

And when she one day stood aside him, noticing his aftershave, finding it alluring, she knew she would like to find out more about him.

Seven seconds.

“That’s settled then,” she smirked by then. Raising one finger as a gentle warning, “I’ll come by, make sure you’re not going to desert.”

It forced a smile out of him, “I won’t.” It was a promise he only could give her.

Someone else, he would have told off already. He had no clue how he would manage. His wings. They troubled him, but for the past two days, he was able to manage. He had let them out all over the weekend. 

Driving out of London, he had spent a day and a half in a little cottage he owned. By a lake and out of sight of tourists and other people. The next shop five miles away. Enough to feel left alone. Enough to walk around the house, giving his wings the freedom they apparently wanted.

After the weekend the pain was no more that harsh, a little uneasy, but he could deal with it. When he would let them out a bit before leaving, they might would let him have a few hours.

He gave Bel a last curt smile before he watched her walk out of his office. Almost looking forward to the evening.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another chapter... so update in a few days!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall joins Bel at the party. How will the night end?

 

Later at five, she leant against his doorframe, her jacket on, watching him still sorting some papers. When he noticed her, he hesitated for a moment, and then remembered his silent promise, quickly nodding.

“Not deserted,” he only said, with an almost boyish smirk. 

Bel needed to laugh heartily at the words, the expression and the unexpected situation. She knew how he could be, and had been ready for a late excuse of his. Taking as a good sign, she watched him with a beam putting the papers aside and come up to her.

Randall felt he was slightly red in the face, happy she had laughed at his joke. Not that he had attempted to make one. 

Between four and half past, he had locked his door, putting a “Do not disturb” sign out, he used to hand out when making important phone calls. Telling Sally, she shouldn’t put through any visitors or calls for half an hour. 

Then he had taken off his jacket, the vest, his shirt and the tie, folding everything neatly. Placing it on the sofa — only wearing the undershirt, and let his wings out. Over the day the pressing feeling had built up again, but the weekend afar London he had not only used for giving his wings a bit room. Also for exercising with them. Spreading, flexing them. Like fingers, they could do a bit more as just hang around. Maybe that it was, why they hurt that much, because he had neglected them for such long years. 

It wasn’t the only reason, Randall wasn’t stupid, of course, there was a connection with the happenings lately. Lix losing her wings, after losing her daughter for good was a strong incident. For now, he had to come to grips with the pain before digging into the why’s. After that, he would try to make Bel do some research. Eager on the topic he knew she would happily oblige. He only had to be careful not to give away too much. Randall had hinted to her over the years, that he had no problem when she kept an eye out. She had this little corner in her office where she pinned down facts and pictures about it and from time to time he tried to get a glimpse at it. 

 

Down at the bar, he watched his people have fun. Drinking cocktails, coke and soda. Dancing to the music. Chatting and laughing. 

It was nice that he had to admit. Not that he was in bars much, but he had thought it would be louder, the music horrible and everybody would look at him because he didn’t feel young enough to be in a bar. 

To the contrary, it wasn’t that loud, and the music was a mix of swing and jazz, something he listened too at home. And when he spotted Wilfred Mott, who mainly lived in the basement, being in charge of the printers and everything technical, he felt almost ridiculous over thinking he was too old to go to bars. Even more, when the man danced with Sally and a few others, something that looked like a drunken giraffe.

Sipping from his fanta, while talking with McCain about politics, he watched Bel dance with Hector and a few others. Surprisingly Sally had invited McCain too, maybe as goodwill, or he had invited himself. Whatever it was, Randall had someone to talk, and McCain was so self-centred that he didn’t realise that Randall always had an eye on Bel and wasn’t listening properly.

 

From time to time she caught an eye off him, sitting on a barstool, his upper body leaning against the wall behind him. McCain prattling on about God knows what. It didn’t seem of urgent importance. Randall’s body language was telling it all. He barely looked at the younger man, only when the stream of words appeared to stop, he turned slightly toward him, saying something. A few words, a few cues that would make McCain keep going. It was like putting money into a vending machine so that it would spill out the sweets endlessly. 

No, Randall wasn’t listening, watched the couples around him, the people drink. Sometimes with a frown, a glare, like a raptor hunting for prey. She wondered if he was aware of the range of expressions he had. Then he caught her looks, and his expression softened, before turning to McCain again — putting in another coin — or to someone else in the room. He obviously not wanted to seem like he was staring like a teenage boy. 

 

Everytime Bel left the dance floor to drink something or just because she didn’t like the song; Randall told himself that he should ask her for the next dance. 

He didn’t. How could he? In front of all those people — not that anyone would care. Or would they? He was her boss in the end. She his producer. And he wasn’t the jolly fun guy usually. Yes, they had seen him at parties, mostly the annual Christmas thing they always had. He used to spend that time with talking to some people from the upper floors before he left not too early but also not too late toward home. 

 

While he mulled over all this, he suddenly felt a hand slip into his, tugging at it. Looking up he found Bel standing aside him, a broad smile on her face, her blond hair hanging loose into her face.

“Come on!” she tugged him down his stool. “Mister McCain, you don’t mind, do you? But Mister Brown hasn’t danced all evening, and I have to change that.”

Before the man could answer, and before Randall could object, he found himself with Bel on the dancefloor. His one hand automatically around her hip, the other holding her hand — she had urged her own basically into his. It was the best that had happened to him for a long while.

“So?” she then began, and they swayed to the song. Unobtrusive romantic the tune was.

“So?” he repeated, feeling his heart beat hard. When was the last time he had danced with a woman? Years. Decades maybe. Better not to think about, he told himself.

One hand rested by his neck, close to his hairline, “Would you have ever asked me? To dance with you?”

He swallowed. Once again Bel was so similar to a storm. And as there was no reason to lie he decided to be open with her, “I would have. After scratching all my bravery together, I would have… in a few months or years from now.”

His honesty and the way he looked at her, the way his hand now came firm around hers, made her smirk, while regarding him. 

Randall wasn’t a hot shot, gladly. When she was over with something then with show-offs like Hector, who she was still good friends. “Then I am lucky, ain’t I?”

The little bit between his eyes twitched, one of his eyebrows showing the confusion.

“For asking you first,” her fingertips now touched his neck and sent a prickle through him.

It made him give a silent laugh, “I dare say, Miss Rowley,” he pursed his lips for a moment, glad she had been so bold to ask him, “I am the lucky one.”

For a second he felt braver as usual and swirled Bel around herself. It made her giggle when she landed back in his embrace and for that single moment — not thinking about his wings at all —  Randall had the believe he could have a chance with her.

They danced together for another song, and then she pulled him off the dancefloor. It had gotten late by now. And there was a morning conference at nine the next day.

“It’s late,” she leant forward, toward his ear. So close that her lips touched his skin there. “Share a cab?”

They lived in the same direction. First her, then him. It was okay for him, “Sure.”

By now he had no misgivings about them leaving the bar together, or them having danced together under the eyes of the others. What happened at such locations and such festivities stayed there. Whatever it was. He had grasped that quickly. Not that he had anything in mind. That wasn’t Randall.

 

They made their goodbyes and as if it was the most usual thing in the world Bel tugged her arm under his, stumbling out of the bar, out into the fresh air of the night. 

There was no cab around, so either they walked a bit or waited for one to come by. None of them made the move to get their phones out to call one.

Bel glanced down the street, turning back to Randall with verve, silently giggling, “Can I tell you a secret?”

One hand of her was by his shoulder, the other on his forearm. His hands by her side or holding her by the elbow. He couldn’t say how she had landed so close in his arms, like a couple almost. Not that he minded, “You can.”

“I fancy you,” Bel answered quickly, knowing aside she had some alcohol in her veins, bravery could leave her anytime soon. “And I know you fancy me too.”

And there again he was robbed off his words, by this young woman, and the only answer he could give her was glancing at her lips. It made her smile at him.

“I had two cocktails and another drink. I am tipsy, not drunk, and I would like to kiss you right now,” but she didn’t lean in. 

It was more an idea. A dare. Testing the waters with this man she knew for a couple of years now without knowing him all too good. A secret. A question mark. What she knew about him was, he wouldn’t have made the first step. Not in a million years. Too reserved. Too correct. He was her boss, and aside the policy had no official argument against relationships, Bel knew there was something that held Randall away from doing so. There was something, not upbringing or manners. Not because he was too shy or too afraid. Under all the layers there was something else, and Bel was curious to find out what it was. 

 

Maybe it was simply a wounded heart, she thought. Lix Storm had left a mark on and in Randall, Bel had heard the rumours. It was the easiest thing to find out actually. Typing his and her name into Google, delivered extraordinary works of them together in the Yugoslav Wars. They won awards together. Her photographs rounded by his texts.

“Bel…,” it wasn’t an offer he got every day. It wasn’t an offer he had for years, but indeed she was tipsy. Not drunk, because Bel Rowley could drink a grown man under the table that he had heard about. It didn’t stop him from glancing at her lips again, but he knew what alcohol could do to someone, and he’d rather kiss her when a little more sober.

She read his thoughts because she was clever and an excellent producer. They worked well together, being on the same frequency. Not seldom she knew what idea he had next in mind while at the conference and vice versa. 

“How about that? We walk. It’s twenty minutes from here to my apartment,” she stepped a bit away from him. Her hands sliding down his arms, one hand completely letting go, the other deliberately landing in his. “The air will do me good. Will do us good. And when we reach my door, there is a good chance I am no more that tipsy, and when you let me, I’ll kiss you there.”

Alone for that, he thought, he wanted to pull her back in and snog the sense out of her. He was a loner, not an idiot and foremost not incompetent with women. Instead of doing so, he let her tug him away again. The third time at this day.

The air was cool, but not cold, and aside it was a Thursday evening, the streets were full with people. It was London after all. For a few meters, they kept silent. Everyone alone with their thoughts, exchanging a few shy glances and smirks before they found easily into a talk about the little birthday party. They had given Sally an annual pass for the London Eye. For some reason, she loved doing it as often as possible.

“Have you been on the London Eye?” Bel inquired.

“Once,” Randall answered. “I had to follow around a camera team. So I didn’t do it for fun.” Bel smiled over the phrasing, telling herself she better should remember it for later, and it was to her as if Randall could read that in her. That she would come back to it in a bit. “You?”

She shook her head, “Never had the chance. I’d love too, but… I didn’t even saw the crown jewels yet. Haven’t taken the City Tour. There is so much to see,” she leant a bit more in, holding tight on his arm, knowing they now looked definitely like a couple to others. “It seems living in London hinders one to do the good stuff. Because you think you can do it tomorrow, or next week…”

“... and then you never do it.”

“It’s true isn’t it?” she stopped him, turning round toward him. She could notice the fine rims under his eyes. He was tired, and his hair a bit out of place. His hand was warm, and she wondered why he didn’t seem to care about the closeness they had all evening long. When she wouldn’t know better, she would say he had a drink too much.

“We could go,” he suddenly said, and was startled almost. Where did that come from? And Bel’s arching eyebrows telling him the same.

“Now?”

He couldn’t backpedal now, could he?

Bel grinned, saving him, by not testing his bravery, “There is a conference tomorrow, Mister Brown.”

“There is,” he breathed and only then noticed that they had reached her home.

“One day we could go, though,” she shrugged, glancing up to her window. “For fun, and not for work. How does that sound to you?”

Randall held her by the waist, too close to be back on normal terms at that moment. Maybe tomorrow again. Then there was a huge chance they would be Head of News and Producer again. He would ask her about it soon. First, there was this promise of her hanging in the air. 

And Bel hadn’t forgotten. How could she? She always remembered what she said in a dash of megalomania — and when being drunk. Both usually went together very good.

Right there in front of her apartment building, after twenty minutes of fresh air, she had gotten sober again, and with that, her guts had left her alone around the last corner.

“That sounds nice,” he licked his lips, one hand touching her by the cheek now. Bel Rowley did something to him. While others seemed to be intimidated by him, as a quiet person, someone with quirks and tics, Bel had been first unnerved, and later spurred on by his methods, accepting his quirks like no other. Over many crises, they had found together as a team first, and in the end as something like friends — still not knowing much about each other. Though, the last point was about to change.

Before Randall could think anything more, and before fear made Bel retreat she decided to go all in, leaning forward, capturing his lips. 

Her nose brushing against his, with a bit too much verve so that they both had to adjust the kiss, what was quickly done. No tongue, just lips. Not too languid but with relish — a proper snog. Bel embraced his body, pressing herself against him, while Randall placed one hand on her back, caressing her neckline absently.

“Bel,” Randall whispered after reaching the one moment where he knew he better stop before wanting so much more from her, what better should not happen in the first night. In the end, he was old school, and not in search for a one-night-stand. He had such thing before, never being really happy afterwards. Satisfied, but not happy. So he gently shoved her away, still keeping the contact, searching her eyes. Searching for something like a clue how to go on. 

 

What would be the next day? Would there be more like this? At least a perspective? Or was this just some canoodling between two grown-ups after a night of party and drinks? 

 

“Mhh?” Bel wasn’t so far yet with her concerns. Eyes still closed, all dreamy from the kiss. When she had known Randall Brown could kiss like this, she had done it on his first day in the office, three years ago. It had been worth the wait. 

Opening her eyes, she could see his concerns right away. She knew how it worked with him. It was this one certain spot between his lively eyebrows. He was worried, unsure of the situation. There was only one way of finding out what it was exactly with him.

 

“You are concerned because… tomorrow you want me to be Miss Rowley again, doing as if this has never happened, or,” she swallowed hoping for everything but what she had said first, “or you can imagine… having more of this and are afraid I don’t want it? Because I can imagine it, and right now I am afraid you’ll say this was all an accident you don't want to have to happen twice.” Bel knew she was babbling. It was one of her weak points. When nervous or too over excited she tended to keep talking. In this case to avoid an unwelcome answer. 

 

Randall let his eyes wander over her face. Taking in her round eyes -- blue. The way her mouth was drawn on her face, the lipstick giving it a fuller touch. He guessed there was a chance he had some of it now on his lips. 

Bel was a beautiful woman, who had boyfriends here and there. The office was a small world when it came to that. Gossip was and always would be the topic on the floors. Most people knew who dated whom, who had a breakup recently or was off the market again. Not that he was one for gossip, but it was sometimes hard to overhear. And Bel was no one who made a big secret out of it, and why should she? She was an independent young woman, who was looking for a bright, good looking man who not wanted her to work in the kitchen, as she once had phrased it toward Lix. Back in the old days. Randall had overheard it, and the words were now present in his head.

Clever. He was that. Not in every part of his life but with his work definitely and also in his private life. With women, he had to admit; he had some troubles sometimes. Like now the trouble was, that she wanted someone good looking, and Randall couldn’t imagine for all in the world, that he was attractive to her. Not that he was looking awful, most men he knew his age had a belly, lesser hair or no hair. He was fit, did some sports from time to time. Nothing too exaggerating, but still.

“When I am honest,” he tried to smile but knew he looked stern again, “it felt like an accident. I don’t dance with women, bring them home and kiss them goodnight on a regular basis. Not even on an irregular basis,” this time, he managed to crack a smile and Bel felt lighter. “How about dinner tomorrow?”

“How about lunch?” it earned her a raised eyebrow.

“Are we in a hurry?”

“I know you for three years, Randall,” she leant in again, pressing her lips against his, and when he responded with the smallest movement, she hummed against him. “I think we can speed up a little, can’t we?”

When she separated from him, making his body swing forward with her movement, because he hadn’t been ready to let go of her, he looked befuddled but convinced, “Lunch it is then.”

The truth was, Bel couldn’t wait to drag him to bed. The kiss had shown her that Randall was underrated on the floors of The Hour. Some girls let show they liked his looks but were scared by his stern appearance and his way of showing his humour not very often. Let alone his need for straight lines.

One had suggested, after they had done a girls night out — including a lot of alcohol —  discussing the male staff, that Randall probably folded all his clothes before sharing a bed with someone. They pulled all the men to pieces, so it was not only the Head of News.

Anyway, Bel was eager to find that out, not even scared by the thought he might. Spurred on almost, if she could make him forget to do it in case, he would.

“Goodnight, Mister Brown,” she smiled at him, making half a pirouette, drunken by the kiss and the happenings, before turning to her door. All under the eyes of Randall, who seemed to be torn between following her and making himself move to get home.

“Goodnight, Miss Rowley.”

He kept standing there till she was gone, and then he turned around waving a cab over.

This night had turned out all differently as expected. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update unsure... nothing more in store, but many ideas!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after the lovely evening that Bel and Randall spent. Randall has to face the truth, that there is something in him he can't hide from her at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As told my updates depend on my time and inspiration. At least I finally figured where this story will go and how the next chapters will play out. I think that will help me write here and there a bit more. Enjoy this one on an late Randall Monday!

At three o’clock in the morning, Randall woke over a horrendous pain in his back. As if somebody was about to push a couple of knives into his spine and shoulder blades, twisting them vicariously.   
Immediately he knew it was the price he had to pay for his carelessness. For his forgetfulness. Coming home after that lovely evening with Bel, still dizzy and unusual happy over the kiss they had shared, he had walzed home like being in a dream. A little orchestra playing in his head. Randall Brown happy.   
He had come home, undressing, and going to bed — his wings forgotten. They hadn’t ached him that evening, and so he had forgotten to let them out. A couple of weeks ago this wouldn’t have been a problem, but now it needed to be a constant ritual to keep them in check over the day.   
Panting and gripping the sheets Randall woke up, pushing his head into the pillow, screaming. 

“Oh, god!” his body bent almost in an unnatural way, but Randall didn’t know how to control the pain, how to make it go away. When he was in such state, he lost control over his wings. They had become to something immense, that was under his skin, wanting out. Usually, it was him to decide to let them out, even when it did hurt, but as he had slept, he hadn’t felt the uneasy feeling and now it was too late. They would break out the way they wanted and the time they wanted — and it would hurt. 

Randall tried to get his breath under control, breathing the pain away. Trying to relax, he knew it would help to release them and indeed a moment later the wings burst out, lighting the room for a moment in virulent blue, hitting against the wall where they left a mark in the texture of his wallpaper, before finding their ghostly form again.

‘How careless, Randall!’ he thought and pushed himself out of bed. Sweat covering his body he wandered into the bathroom. Splashing water over himself, only to observe his wings in the mirror. His body was at ease again, a bit worn out of course. It was always like torture when that happened.   
Watching the forms fluttering softly round his body, he found them almost beautiful for a second, before he realised how much pain they had caused him. How much problems they seemed to bring to their owners, and he was afraid he wouldn’t find a way to solve this. He couldn’t be the Head of News while wings were attached to his back. Most of all he couldn’t push forward the arising relationship with Bel.   
‘Bel’, his head dropped. Disappointment ran through him, knowing he not only had to cancel the lunch with her the next morning. He had to tell her, that whatever was between them couldn’t be. He would have to disappoint her, something he not wanted, but what else he could do?

With a sigh he walked back to his bedroom, laying down in hope to find a bit of rest. Already knowing he wouldn’t fall asleep again. So he watched his wings hover in the dark. They were like scars, or a mirror, held up by life, reminding him what a flawed man he was. Maybe he deserved it he thought. Even he had them before impregnating Lix; he sometimes thought they were a punishment for it. For his way of life in general. That they acted up since he knew about his daughter's death definitely was a punishment.   
With a sob, he pressed his face into the pillow. There might not be another way as to leave London. Living the usual life of a wing-carrier. Alone. 

 

Randall found himself in his office short after six. He had given up to feel miserable for himself, had taken a shower and then went to the office. The wings by then no more acting up, willing to hide again. Being the first in office, he started the coffee machine in the tea kitchen, and enjoyed a cup of freshly brewed coffee, with a bit of milk and way too much sugar, while looking out of his office window. His office had a beautiful view, over office buildings and in the far he could see the Thames. In the past, he had enjoyed that view while thinking over problems and articles. Only in the last couple of weeks, he had to draw the blinds and keep them shut for most of the day.   
Bel had given him a few looks for that, after entering his office, finding it shut out from the world. She knew he usually liked the wide view, had recommended it to her more than once. Mostly because she hadn’t one. Not as nice as he had, but she didn’t give much of it anyway.  
Randall sat in his chair, sipping his coffee, lost in thought. He had a difficult but important conversation to make with Bel, and after musing over it for way too long, he had no idea how to tell her that they couldn’t go to lunch or in any direction that would title romance together. Knowing Bel long enough, he knew she wouldn’t understand and most of all not easily accept it. She would demand a reason, and it would be hard giving her one that would make her leave him alone.   
Glancing at the clock, short after eight, knowing Bel would soon come to his office his heart was beating hard and fast. Talking with him about the day and the show. It was the moment he hated himself so much and for a moment he thought about taking the day off. To disappear, but then he knew he wouldn’t come back because it would be such a shame and Bel didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

So he kept sitting in his office, sorting his desk and the papers, calming his nerves, till he heard a soft knock. To him it sounded like a loud drum, and in heavy anticipation and tenseness he let drop a couple of pens he was holding. 

Bel entered like usual without waiting for a “come in”, only giving a few seconds. She saw Randall hastily pick up the scattered pens. There she knew something was off. His usual calmness, the stern look, it wasn’t intact that moment she had entered. Something was wrong.

After having left him behind in front of her apartment building, she had grinned all the way up to her door. Unable to wipe the happiness from her face, she had flopped down onto her sofa, imagining what could be. Reliving the moment over and over again, how he had pulled her in, had kissed her. The way his lips had tasted, his odour, his warm hands on her cheek. Her skin was still tingling when she thought about it.   
She had been able to hide her nervousness, but when she had confessed that she fancied him, her heart had beat so loud she had been sure Randall, and half the street could hear it.  
Not that she was planning marriage yet, but admitting to herself she was almost a bit in love with him already. At least it was beyond a crush. Bel was willing to give in with him. After so many disappointing dates, a broken heart a few years ago she had given herself a break with men, and then she had noticed Randall’s looks. 

“Everything okay?” she asked, stepping slowly up to his desk, after closing the door. She held a mug with coffee in her hands, now gripping it tight, feeling his unease.

“Uhm, yes, I...uhm,” he stammered, placed the pens back in place and stepped to the side of his desk. “Fine. And you?”

She glanced over him, guessing he was just nervous because of what had happened the night before. Telling herself, it was nothing else, and she relaxed a bit.   
“I am good, very good to be honest,” she smiled at him, and Randall could only smile back before remembering that he shouldn’t. “It was a very nice evening, Randall.”

“It was,” he admitted. A sigh escaped him before he took off his glasses and rubbed his face with his free hand. He didn’t know what to do.

“Randall?” again there was this feeling in her guts, getting strange again. “You regret it, don’t you?” she then sputtered.

“What?” his head tilted up again, staring at her. “No!”

Bel knew she was way too fast into her usual defence mode, “What’s with the gesture then?” waiting a few seconds and when he didn’t react she went on, placing her cup on the table aside the door, “I thought we had talked about it yesterday.”

“We have,” he stepped up to her, his hands wavering nervously in front of him, “and … it’s complicated.”

Bel rolled her eyes, “Oh, please! Is it complicated? That’s what men used to say to me all the time! What the hell is complicated here? Even you are interested or not. You seemed yesterday very much by the way, and I asked you about it. It didn’t seem to be complicated yesterday.”

She was right and he was wrong, but what could he say to it, “I know what I said and I am very sorry, Bel.”

“Can’t you tell me what the problem is?” she enquired, not ready to let the matter drop, exactly as Randall had thought. “Was it something I said? Is it about the lunch? Do you need more time?”

“No,” he lowered his gaze for a moment. “It’s not about time, Bel. I came to the conclusion, that it wouldn’t be clever to ... to engage in a relationship with you.”

“Clever? Engage? For an award winning journalist you are very rubbish with words.” Bel couldn’t believe what he had said. “You kissed me.”

“As said-”

“-Oh, spare me your humiliation!” she quickly snapped, about to turn around.

“Bel!”

“Leave it!” she warned. “You can come to my office in an hour if there is anything to talk for the show. And I advise you not to come for any other reason to me. Ever!”

“I didn’t mean to …”

“I think it is exactly what you meant to do,” Bel corrected him, one hand on the door handle already, “Whatever made it complicate for you I don’t care. You could tell me, something you not want. So leave me alone. We forget about what has happened. But be assured that our friendship in this office has suffered, and when I learned one thing from life, then you can’t cross a line and return to old terms afterwards.”

She ripped the door open, stepped outside and shut it with a bang leaving a troubled Randall behind. What a row. 

For a minute or so he stood in the middle of the room, thinking about how to take her words. About to follow her, open up to her, tell her he was an idiot, and aside being a brilliant journalist he had been indeed very rubbish with his choice of words. As he knew Bel, it would make no sense to follow her now. He had to give her a bit before touching the topic again; now she was like an elemental force. She would sweep him off his feet when he wasn’t sensitive enough. Nevertheless, the urge to go after her was strong. 

Before he could decide on anything, he felt his back twitch. Only minor, but enough to make him aware that his wings started to act up. With a frown, he remembered that he had let them out till the last possible second. They should be fine till noon.   
Another cramp went through his back; it made him bent slightly forward. As if someone was pushing him forward. “Damn it!” he whispered and heard a knock on the door. A persistent one. 

Quickly he turned around, placing his hands on his desk, “I am busy!”

Yet the door went open and a still seething Bel appeared, not quite looking into his direction, “Don’t think I came back to listen to your excuses, I just forgot my favourite cup!”   
She was already about to leave again, when she saw Randall lean against his desk in a strange posture.

He caught her looks over his shoulder, battling with the pain in his back, “Leave please.” It was like hot needles entered his spine and the fact that he now had Bel’s attention wasn’t helping.

“Randall?” Bel placed the cup back and wanted to walk over to him. There Randall fell down on his knees and hands with a hard smack. “Randall!”

“Bel- no-,” with one arm he tried to deter her, but Bel was unimpressed and kneeled at his side, desperate to find out what it was that caused Randall to shiver in pain. Lying in obvious agony on the floor. 

“What’s wrong? Talk to me!” for a moment she was afraid he was having a heart attack or some epileptic fit, but he was trying to shove her away with such force that she couldn’t imagine it.  
Randall battled against the pain and the inevitable threat of his wings bursting out at any second. ‘Not here! Please God, not in front of Bel!’

“I am going to call an ambulance, Randall!” When Bel pulled out her phone Randall grabbed her arm, holding her back.

“No! No Ambulance,” he hissed under the waves of pain. Bel stopped, unsure how to handle the situation. Randall seemed in control of himself, so much, that she guessed he knew very well what was going on. On the other hand, he was obviously in pain and maybe would pass out over it. Then not calling for help could turn out as a mistake. 

“Randall, do you know what is happening?,” she implored him to answer. “I’ll call for Hector.”

“No. Please,” he pleaded and the tone of it assured her that he could still judge the situation.

The pain was horrible, he knew he could not longer hold it back. His wings had to come out. Now. “Bel-”

She stepped toward him again, “Randall.”

“-Leave!” He raised his hand again, hoping she would, already knowing she wouldn’t listen to him. “Please!”

“I will not leave you alone!” she grabbed his hand, pressing it. “Can’t you tell me what is going on? Randall!”

Randall bent like a cat, taking his hand away from her. Groaning and grunting he was able to shove his jacket off, knowing it gave him more room to move. And then the blue smock slowly started to billow out of his back, “You have to… to step back!” he uttered robbing into the other directions. Afraid his wings would hurt her when bursting out. At least to this command, she agreed.

With wide open eyes Bel watched Randall bent hard and cry out, when suddenly a glary flash went through the room. A blue light gleaming so strong, that Bel had to cover her eyes, turning away for a moment. For a second she thought one of the lamps in the room had exploded. 

Randall had tried to keep his wings in check, at least till he had found a way to usher Bel out of the room, but quickly he had grasped that neither Bel nor his wings would do what he wanted. And so he had given into the horrible pain, and the feeling of his wings to come out.   
Like in the night they had burst out, even blinding him for a bit. Light and sounds of whooshing and wheezing filling the room, before silence, settled.   
Unable to find back to strength Randall rested on the floor, breathing heavily. He could feel his wings lay aside him, close to his body, that at least he could demand with his will. It was the moment Bel would find out who Randall really was, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her with wide stretched 'somethings' that were attached to his back. 

Bel slowly lowered her hand. Whatever just had happened, she hadn’t realised it yet. Still, she believed Randall had had a seizure. Everything else was not on the horizon of her experience. Looking toward Randall, she saw he was still breathing, groaning even, slightly moving but unable to stand up again.   
“Randall,” she whispered coming back to him, down on her knees, aside him now. There she became aware of the blue smoke and the light that was floating around Randall’s body. 

Randall gasped, turning his head to look into her eyes. They were full of concern and questions. Sure, she was interested in wing-carriers and had seen a few pictures here and there — taken from the distance or blurry — but like so many others, she had no real idea of how the wings looked, how they felt. And he was probably the last she had ever guessed for a carrier. No, Bel couldn’t understand what the blue smoke was. 

Randall grabbed her hand, that was close to his. “Are you alright?” he whispered, in fear she might got hurt.

“Me?” Bel asked but nodded, “Are you? What has happened?” her eye couldn’t stay long with Randall’s as they were drawn to his back again and again. “What is this?”

Randall smiled shaky, contemplating if he should get up or not. 

Bel was so completely taken in by what she saw – like a child with a discovery, she wanted nothing more than to touch what was in front of her. Aside feeling fear she reached out with her hand. Quickly Randall stopped her by getting on his knees and quickly grabbing for her hands. His movement brought some vibrancy into his wings causing Bel to flinch backwards.

“Randall!” she yelped. It was a warning for him about something obscure she couldn’t catch on yet.

“It’s okay,” he breathed, slowly pushing himself up. 

All under Bel’s shocked looks, her eyes widening with his motions of standing up, “What…?” she motioned toward him, seeing that the blue light and smoke came up with him; even, when he made some small steps toward her, it never separated from him. Then the penny dropped.

Randall could see the realization spread over her face. Pupils dilated, switching fast between Randall and the wings. Her mouths gaping open, one hand rose, a finger pointing at him.

A wave of guilt washed over Randall, without knowing what he should feel more guilty for. Not telling her or for having them in general.

It was a moment of uncertainty for both of them. Randall had never revealed his wings to anyone but Lix, so he didn’t know how normal people would react to such a sighting. Yes, in general people were indifferent, but it was something else when one experienced a wing-carrier eye to eye.   
Bel’s closest look at a carrier was through pictures. At one time in her life, she had once met a woman who she thought was a carrier, but she never found out if really, and never had seen someone so close while having the wings out. Her body shook in anticipation and fright.   
Randall waited for her to say something, and when nothing came except shocked looks, he found himself in the defence. Felt judged, by the woman he cared about. His breath went fast, and quickly he tried to come up with a plan. 

Bel saw him start to shake, saw him tense his shoulders, and saw how emotions and some sort of anger washed over his face, “What-?”

Quickly and demanding he rose a hand, and then his will overpowered his wings. With a wide stretch at first and a stern expression that made Bel step back against the wall, he pulled his wings back in. It robbed him almost of all his strength, but there was a little reserve and with that he reached for his coat on the hanger, hurrying out of the office. Leaving a speechless Bel behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll try to update as soon as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation with consequences?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Step by step... thanks for the patience...

When Bel found out of her perplex state to follow Randall, he was gone already. For a moment she thought of taking the stairs to reach him before he would get into his car, but then she assumed that was a bit overdramatic.  
Like her, Randall was in a state of shock and surprise, and she guessed the only thing he needed was a bit time.   
Standing in his office, she glanced down the floor, where his jacket was lying. He hadn’t picked it up, and so Bel now did it for him. Carefully she placed the expensive fabric over her arm, brushing with her hand over it, before holding it close to her nose, taking a whiff of Randall’s odour.   
It made her remember the night before, the way he had looked at her. It also made her remember, how angry she had been with him after he had told her he did not want to see her again after work.   
With a sigh she left his office, his jacket over her arm, she approached the front desk. Still, flabbergast from what had happened between them, she told Sally Randall had felt sick and had left for the day, “Put all calls to me. We do the conference, as usual. I talked with Randall. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

With a glance toward the jacket, Sally nodded, “As you say, Miss Rowley.”

After that Bel retreated to her office, placing the jacket on the rest of a stool, before sitting down at her desk to think about the whole thing. 

Randall Brown a wing-carrier. That fact had to settle in for a bit. She had never guessed he was one. Randall had never shown a sign of the slightest possibility. Nevertheless, she now connected the dots, why he wanted to have her and not someone else. If people wanted to know and see, they could grasp she had done a few articles about wing-carriers, how she cared about the topic in some way. It was unusual as most people didn't. It seemed Randall had had his reasons. 

The day passed. People asked for Randall, but Bel assured everything was fine, he was just unwell. It was unusual that Randall was ill because he usually was always there. Always. 

When most people had left the office, Bel looked down at her phone. Not that she had believed in a message from Randall but somewhere deep down she had hoped for one. Nothing. With a sigh, she decided to give him a call. See how he did, if everything was okay. Assure him nothing had changed, that she hadn’t told anyone. 

The phone rang seven times and then jumped to the mailbox, “Randall? It’s me, Bel. I … I wanted to know if everything is okay,” her eyes landed on his jacket. “You forgot your jacket, you know,” she laughed helplessly, already knowing he wouldn’t call back. “Please give me a call.”

She hung up and slowly sorted her desk and then got dressed, but her phone stayed silent. Becoming more and more uneasy with the situation she grabbed her bag and dialled his phone once more on the way to her car. This time, not even the mailbox answered, the caller was unavailable at present. Randall didn't want to be contacted. Also, he had betrayed himself, having gotten her message and then turning off his phone.   
On the spur of the moment, and before doubt settled in, Bel decided to drive by his apartment. 

Standing in front of his apartment building door in the half dark, Bel was unsure if she should ring the bell or not. If she would, Randall would know it was her, who else would come by at that time of the day. Also, he wouldn’t desert, would he? 

To her luck, the door went open, and a young woman who greeted Bel only briefly came out and so she could step in and climb the stairs to his door. She had never been here before, so she had to check every door on the floors till she found the name “Brown”.   
Glancing up and down the floor it laid in silence. Leaning toward the door, she could hear quiet music. Classical. What else! She knew Randall used to listen to classical music to calm down. And there was probably a lot to calm down. 

Bel waited another minute and then knocked, leaning slightly forward to catch up on any reaction from inside. First, she heard nothing, the music kept playing, so she knocked again. This time louder. The music stopped, and Bel held her breath. 

 

Randall had hurried home in pain. After he had urged his wings back inside, he had ran to his car, only to flap almost down over the middle onto the passenger seat. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he eased the pain away in his mind and then drove home with sweat on his forehead and shaking hands.  
As soon as he reached his apartment, he shut the door with the last power he had, before stumbling and falling forward. Unable to absorb the fall with his hands. His wings bursting out the same time.   
He would have fallen right onto his face, breaking his nose probably, but now he hovered in the corridor toward his living room, just a few inches over the ground. His wings were gently moving, holding him in the air. 

Randall opened his eyes, still waiting for the impact when he realised in his confused state of mind what was happening. That he wasn’t falling anymore, that he was hanging in the air. Not flying, but floating.   
The realisation hit him with a gasp; that had never happened before. Besides, he never had fallen like that before.   
Then the wings stopped moving, and he finally hit the floor with a soft thump. Whatever just had happened, he couldn’t say he had been in control of it.   
Before giving it a second thought, he fell asleep right where he was — on the cool floor. 

Two hours later he woke up, for a moment unsure where he was. Slowly the events of the morning came back, and he felt not only beaten but also embarrassed and without any perspective. What could he do now? Now, Bel knew about it all? Soon the office would know. The higher floors. Either because she would tell them, or because he was unable to contain his wings. 

He went and made himself some tea and put on some classical music. It would help him to regain a clear mind again. Later he would force himself to eat something, as he hadn’t done that properly the past week. 

After a cup of tea, he sat down on his sofa, watching his wings settle with him. In moments like this, he was between of not caring about anything anymore and wanting them to disappear, knowing it would hurt unbearable if he would force them away. Slowly he leant back into the rest, his head gently dropping onto the soft cushions. He needed time to think; he needed a break. And then he heard it knock. 

First, he thought it was the music player, but then it knocked again — louder. It must be Bel, who else could that be. She had tried to call him earlier and on a whim of fear he had turned off his phone. And again panic befell him, and so he jumped up and turned the music off. Standing in the room like a prey -- waiting for Bel to go away. 

“Randall?” she knocked again because by now Bel had decided not to go away till he had answered her. “It’s me, Bel. Please!”

Even if Randall wanted, he couldn’t move; he was like paralysed in fear of the confrontation. Only his wings fluttered, almost in anticipation, in an urge to move him forward, but this time, he kept the upper hand, not moving one inch. 

Bel got angry and reached for the door handle, “Oh, come on! I know you are there!” she rattled against the door.   
It came to her that he maybe was scared, and so she let go, placing a hand on the wood, placing her ear against it too. “Randall, please. We need to talk, and you know it.”

Randall opened his mouth, wanting to tell her to go away, but nothing came out of it. It was dry, and he couldn’t get it over himself to tell her to go away. Deep down he knew she was the only friend he still had. 

“I am not going to leave here,” she then added with some anger. Pouting behind that closed door. If needed she would sit down in front of that door and wait till Randall had to shop for groceries.

That brought Randall back into the now, knowing she would indeed not leave. Sit there like a petulant child. He clenched his hands into fists a few times before he decided to walk up the door, almost to rip it open to give her his best Head of News glare, but then he remembered those things at his back. He growled silently, giving everything to make them disappear. It wondered him only a moment that it didn’t hurt that much as he thought it would. 

When the door opened, Bel flinched because of all the anticipation. She hadn’t believed he would give in so soon. For a moment they only stared at each other. Randall with his usual stern expression, as if nothing ever had happened, and Bel slightly unsure, a little bit scared in case he would change his mind and close the door again. 

Randall could hold the eye contact only a few seconds, then his stern expression crumbled away, and he lowered his eyes, pushing the door a bit more open to signal her she could come in. 

When Bel passed him, she couldn’t help but observe him intently, looking for his wings and wondering about them when not seeing them. She swallowed hard and stepped into the half lit floor that led to his living room, only to stop there not courageous enough to walk further.

Watching her walk into his place, he felt a small part of him being happy about her being there. A spot in his heart and stomach tingled and sent a warm spread through him. Nevertheless, most of him was frightened and nervous. How could this ever end? Not like he wanted it to end, and probably not like Bel wanted it to end — not that he could imagine how she would like it to end.

When she stopped in the middle of the floor, he closed the door again — louder as he had intended. It made her jump on the spot without turning around. It allowed him to made a sorry face but without saying it out loud. He was too restrained for giving into anything more as opening the door. Stepping up to her he raised his hand, showing her with it to walk forward to the living room and Bel did so.

She never had been here and was surprised how warm the colours were. A dark leather couch, she guessed it was original not some of those look-a-like hipster things people used to buy for low prices.   
The walls painted in light brown with white accents. A few painted art pieces hung there. One was a boat, a wooden one she guessed, and she remembered faint that he once had mentioned having bought a boat after his father had died several years ago.   
It was tidy, what didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t expected anything else. 

Carefully she placed a hand on the sofa, to steady her, and then turned around, seeing Randall watch her how she had taken in his place. For a second she wished she wasn’t here because of what had happened in the morning, but because he had taken her home after a nice dinner. Them exploring this romance between them that had been hanging in the air.   
She quickly pushed the subject aside; it made her only sad. 

When she was about to say something, he interrupted; “I won’t come back,” he glared, before glancing down the floor once more, passing her into the direction of the kitchen. But Randall stopped, he wasn’t in the mood for more tea or anything, not even wanted to offer her something. “I guess that’s why you are here.”

“What do you mean?” she was baffled, unsure what he meant. Not come back this week? Or next week? In the absurdity of her mind she still hoped for a short hiatus, but already knew it wasn’t what Randall had in mind.

“I’ll leave The Hour,” Randall snapped, and it hurt to say it. “I made the decision.”

“When?” Bel snapped back and earned a confused look. “Right now? On a whim?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered.

“Of course, it matters!” she leant forward a bit, almost dared to reach out. Grab him by the shoulders to shake sense into him. “You didn't make the decision in the morning, and I dare to bet you didn't make it an hour ago. You are emotional, and I can even understand because of what happened but— “

“ — the decision is made.”

Bel leant back, in shock, how a few words robbed her off of her reasons to go to work the next day. He meant it, and she knew. Irritated and planless she glanced around. She didn't want to let him go; she cared too much. “You don’t have to.”

The way she said it, made his heart ache because it was not really what he wanted. He wanted to stay, with her, be with her. Kiss her again, because when he was honest, he probably had fallen in love with her a little bit that night in the club, “We both very well know, I have to.”

“That is a lie, Randall, and you know it,” Bel decided to get him on the emotional side. She sensed there was something in him, something that wanted him to stay. “Let us talk about it.”

“There is nothing to say about it, Bel,” he turned around, his breath going faster as usual. He felt a twitch in his back, and quickly turned around again, knowing for once it wasn’t clever to show her his back. “You… you have seen… what happened.”

“Yes. And so what?” Bel knew exactly what the problem was. How wing-carriers acted in public, or better said, how they didn’t act. They hid, and Randall was willing to go the same way. “You hired me for that reason, didn't you?”

“What?”

“You knew I was interested in the topic,” she spilt out fast. “That I have written articles about wing-carriers. That I wanted to do more. That’s why you hired me.”

Randall felt the pain in his back grow, and when his mind was filled up with it, he was unable to think properly, “So that’s why you are here,” he then began, Bel already frowning, “I am a story for you, ain’t I?”

“Randall…”

“A boulevard thing!” he began to rage. Not loud, but firm, his voice becoming a threat. “You are not here to ask me how I feel or to come back. I've seen your looks when you came in.”

“You are stressed, and everything you say isn't true, and you know that!”

“The wings! You looked out for those things on my back,” he walked a bit forward, and Bel couldn’t go against her will and stepped back. “Is that it?”

“You know it’s not,” she whispered hurt.

“Tell them I won’t come back,” Randall glared at her, his voice soft, full of emotions. “I never will. This can’t be. You know it, you of all know it best!”

“You don’t have to do like the others do!” Bel called out. “You can be better!”

“I can be better?” Randall shouted back, and with a face contorted with pain, he bowed slightly, his wings bursting out. Full of emotion as Randall was, his wings were also. Flapping and spreading wildly. Blue, curled smoke building up on the edges quickly only to vanish as fast as it came. A harsh sound, a bit of wind. Making Bel step back, covering her eyes for a moment — afraid she would get hurt. 

When Randall realised that his wings threatened Bel, he stepped back and tried to contain his wild gone wings. “See? I can’t be better, Bel! I can’t be like you! How shall that ever work? I am sorry, but it’s better you leave, and never come back again.”

He was throwing her out, and because she knew he was in a state where nothing ever could reach him, she nodded, but not without one last try, “Please, don’t hide from me!”

His eyes fell close for a few seconds, an inner battle happening. No, he had to end it before it even began.

Bel saw him open his eyes again, saw the emptiness that now replaced the kind look of Randall. She knew, she was about to lose the battle.

Stepping forward he spread his wings. Knowing it would have an effect, foremost because he made them graspable. A few books falling from a sideboard and a glass of water shattering on the floor, “I said; get out!”

Stumbling back, Bel Rowley hurried away, shocked by what she had seen. Randall Brown like a raging monster. A different man.

She barely heard the door fall shut behind her; barely saw the steps she ran down, because of the tears that started to spill and rob her of her sight. She had so hoped for a clearing conversation. The only thing she had wanted to over was help and not betrayal. She wouldn't tell anyone. 

That night she slept uneasy, sobbing long before finally finding rest. Her mind wandering again and again to what had happened. To Randall and soon she found that she wasn't able to let the topic, to let the man go. 

A few days, yes, a few days would help to clear the weather. Then she would pay him once again a visit. She had to. Her mind was telling her. Foremost, her heart.

Bel couldn’t know Randall would soon be gone. For good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't make any promises... as soon as possible.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year went by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man, it's almost a month since the last update. But this month was hell at work. Lot's of out of office appointments and so I couldn't sneak in a bit of writing through office hours.

One year later

Bel slammed the receiver of the phone down with a bang, "Idiot!"

"The upper floors? " a voice asked with amusement.

Bel stood by her desk, hands placed on the desk mat, growling in Silence over the incompetence of some people, when Hector had entered. She smirked forgiving, "Our staff department. I told them I finally need someone competent for the foreign desk. Isaac does it well but he is too new. He needs someone leading him. I can't do that all the time. I can’t be producer, foreign desk and still a bit of Head of News all the time."

"I know someone on the other end of town.., " Hector suggested with a move of his hand, knowing it was no option. But anyhow.

Bel gave it a laughing huff, "I literally begged her to come back. But Lix has made a decision. And I can even understand. At least she promised me to mail me some names for the job."

Hector nodded, glancing around in her office, stopping by the stool in the corner. Bel followed his track and saw the wrinkles on his forehead. It was a familiar game they played from time to time.

"Don't, Hector," she warned, too tired to have the same discussion once again.

He huffed, almost glaring down the jacket that hung over the rest," It's a year now."

"I know. Of all people I know!"

They had a new Head of News since nine months. Mister Fenley. In the end of his fifties and a bit like Randall Brown. A good man, a bit vintage at some points, but Bel could live with him. The new man was stern, controlled, smaller as Bel and aside he wasn’t a messy person, he didn’t sort his books nor hers. Good man, but somehow nothing she wanted. What she wanted was Randall. What she got was Fenley. It seemed they all had to compromise.

"He won't come back, " Hector came closer.

The topic was delicate; he didn't know exactly why, but every time he mentioned it Bel got tense, angry or incredibly sad. Sometimes all at once. At some point, he guessed there had been more to the relationship of Randall and her as anyone could imagine. Beyond work.

"You can't know that for sure," she answered angrily, no more believing in that answer herself. 

Not after a year of not one single sign. No phone call. No message. Not even a rumour. 

She gave the jacket a glance and a sigh before sinking down into her stool. After Randall had thrown her out of his apartment he had vanished within a few days. The place got re-rented and nobody could tell her where he’d gone. No adresse. Nothing she could lay hand on. He was gone, like a leave in the wind.

After that realisation she had one day come back to her office remembering that his jacket was still there. That and a few pictures of him from some event they had have last year, short before he had left. Isaac had taken them in a moment when Randall wasn't aware. He usually forbade to take pictures of him.

In moments of silence and when she missed him the most, she took the jacket and stroked the cotton, holding it close to her face sniffing it. In her imagination, it still had his odour all over it, but the harsh truth was, that it only smelled like cotton. Nothing was forever.

Not that she hadn't tried to forget about Randall. Had tried to take that piece of cloth and give it away. Only to find herself unable to do it. Instead of forgetting about him she fell into a hole of thinking about him all the time. Till the moment she couldn't sleep anymore.

That was when she decided to find him. To do some research. A thought that was just right for her stubborn head. And it kept her busy. 

As she didn't know where to start she had called Lix. Without telling her about the wings of course. They talked a bit, Bel veiled why he had left, spoke about some diversities between him and the upper floors. That there had been a row and Randall had decided to go.

For a moment on the phone, Bel had thought Lix knew something more as she told her. Knew that the story the younger woman presented wasn't true, but as Lix didn't say anything Be´l didn't give it a second thought.

In the end, she couldn't find any trace of Randall. She kept her eyes open for sightings of wing-carriers. Since a while there was a website that noted down where carriers have been spotted. It was made by people who were curious as herself in the phenomenon but it was forbidden to post pictures and not many facts could one find. Only rumours.

For a bit Bel thought to put a missing-person-report somewhere with a picture of him, but she believed that would make Randall just disappear more. She had told different people all over town and country that when they would hear anything they should call her. Randall might think about working again sending in his vita somewhere. She knew him that good, that there was something in him, stronger as his wings, something that made him a full-blooded journalist. The urge to report. To make news. She counted on it, hoping it would turn the tables to the better one day.

"Maybe he has just settled down, not wanting to be found," Hector suggested. "Or he found a girl, having eloped with her."

Bel's head shot up, glaring at her friend, "No! He hasn't found a  _ girl _ , eloping with her, having lots of babies! Gosh, Christ, Hector we talk about Randall Brown here."

Hector was sure since a few months now that Bel had fallen for the missing Head of News in some mysterious way. Also, never mentioned it to her. He didn't believe in an affair with each other — only something brief. 

In a corner of his mind he could remember them dancing together and leaving together. Only days before Randall had left.

"Have you ever thought, that you, by now, are looking for a ghost? How often have you typed his name into Google and how often have you gotten no answer? The man doesn't want to be found, maybe you should accept it. "

"I don't expect you to understand it, Hector, but believe me when I say; I tried,” she had. She had put the jacket in the locker, in a bag, trying to ignore it. “But... I can't."

Hector was on the brink of asking her why. The loss of Randall had hurt her and the unsuccessful and, in his opinion, forleone search seemed to carve deep scars into Bel’s heart and hurt her even more. Seeing the plea in her eyes not to ask, he only nodded. “Keep care okay? I don’t want you to get lost.”

The anniversary of Randall’s absence was a dreary, rainy day. Nothing unusual for that time of the year in London. Nevertheless, it made Bel feel frustrated and for the first time ever she was about to lose confidence in the hope to ever find him again. 

A hope she had kept alive with little bits of optimism here and there. With telling herself, that aside he had left London, aside he had thrown her out in anger, that he was still thinking about his time in London. About Bel — at least that was her greatest hope. About them, the kiss, the possibilities. At least just him sorting her books — something that had become a metaphor for complex friendship in Bel’s head.

Aside he was more a loner; she believed he was also a rare and complex creature. Haunted by thoughts and possibilities. In the past year she had hoped that the opened up possibility of that kiss they had shared and her plea not to hide from her would sooner or later urge him to get in contact. Randall could trust her, she was sure he hadn’t lost the believe in it.

Now, after a year, with not one single sign, Bel turned in her chair, staring out of her window, watching the light rain become a downpour. 

How much time was enough? After how long one should give up? Could give up without asking oneself if it was right or wrong. How long could Bel go on like this? 

She had declined every offer for a date in the past year, because she couldn’t get Randall out of her head. There were moments she believed in a pipe dream she had developed, and that it wasn’t Randall anymore that kept her from giving up, but that phantasm. People in the office had started looking at her oddly, what she mostly ignored or simply gave a stare back, but all together it had gnawed at her. 

 

Then her telephone rang, and she whirled around in her stool, looking at the number on the display. It was familiar, but she wasn’t able to place it.  

“The Hour. Bel Rowley.”

“Bel!” it cheered over the line. Lix.

“Lix!” Bel’s mood lit up a little, “please tell me you want to come back.”

Lix Storm laughed hoarsely, “no I won’t. I am sorry to say that, but they pay better, and the office has a very nice view.”

Bel groaned in played dismay, “Is that all? I might make them give you a raise.”

“No, darling,” Lix dragged at her e-cigarette, “still going to decline then. Because I have a  _ very  _ gorgeous assistent. I can’t give that up yet.”

“Oh, Lix, no!” Bel pulled a face, knowing Lix very well, “you’re shagging your assistant?”

“A lady never tells,” she giggled. “Anyway, I emailed you the list we talked about. Have you gotten it?”

Bel opened her laptop, “I haven’t checked my emails all day. I am incredibly busy.”

“Oh, liar, you always check emails. You are a workaholic,” Lix answered, sensing something was not right.

“I am,” Bel clicked around and found the mail Lix had sent. “I go your mail. I’ll take care of the issue as soon as I can. It’s just…”

“It’s what?”

“Oh, nothing,” Bel sighed, turning back to the window. “No need to bother you.”

“You do already, so spill the beans, what is going on? Are the upper floors being arses again?”

Bel shook her head, “No, they are the exact amount of ‘being arses’ as they always used to be.” Another hesitation and Lix urged her on the other side to finally speak. “It’s nothing you want to hear about, I know that, so I won’t tell.”

After a moment of silence, Lix decided to reach out, “You are still looking, don’t you?”

Lix and Bel never really had talked about Randall’s absence after the one phone call of Bel, asking if Lix knew anything. As Lix was clever and had a good sense of her friend, she always knew that something was bothering Bel. Afraid for reasons Lix never addressed it, and Bel not wanted to bother Lix as she knew about the complicated relationship she obviously once had with Randall.

“There is the possibility I do,” Bel only said. “I know you do not want to talk about it.”

“That’s quite right, but,” she gave a laugh, “it’s the reason I call.”

Bel felt how her stomach made a strange flip. Making her feel somewhere between sick and excited. Straightening her back she automatically reached for a pen, as she did when people called giving her information about some investigation they did for an article, so she could take notes.

"Have you...?" Bel couldn't dare to ask the question in its completeness, afraid to be disappointed in the end. After all this time she was in a state she needed to prevent herself from high hopes. The crash she would do would hurt too much and shred her dreams of finding Randall one day completely.

Lix paused for a bit, thinking through her words. What she would tell Bel now, she knew for a couple of weeks, but as she hadn't been sure if the information and investigation she had done was worth anything she had waited. She still wasn't a 100% sure, but there was something in her guts that told her it was time to tell Bel. Give over what she knew, so the blonde woman could come to a result.

When Randall had left, Lix had sensed in the short conversations with Bel that the old idiot was way too important for the girl as that it was just about a miffed producer wanting to know what had happened with her stubborn Head of News.

"Before I tell you, I have to say that I am not sure, but... "

Bel closed her eyes for a moment," Oh, just tell me!"

"You know I spend my mornings with checking the news over the internet, all over the world. I usually find articles all around the world and the articles published in the UK... I know the authors. They are always the same. You know your usual suspects," Bel could hear Lix drag at her cigarette. "Anyway, round three months ago I found this article on Google. From a local news website somewhere in Scotland. Small local newspaper, running a blog and stuff. It was about the Yugoslav wars. Some sort of guest commentary, a comparison between this past conflict and the Syrian conflict."

Bel knew very well that Randall and Lix had worked together in Yugoslavia while the war, "A lot of news people have reported from there. There is not a week one reporter shows off he or she knows all too much about it."

"I know that, and first I didn't give it a thought but I decided to read it and... Bel I know Randall better as you can imagine and I know things that have happened there no one else knows and after reading this article I... It's not that the person writes exactly how things were... It's all between the lines but... it felt so familiar to read."

"So? Who wrote the thing? Is there a name?" Bel pushed.

"When Randall has written it, he wasn't careless enough to sign it with his name," they both smiled. "Just initials. F. G."

It was already too frustrating for Bel; she hated the suspense, "Is this going anywhere?"

"I did some research. F. G. has written for the newspaper before. It started three months after Randall had left. In the beginning small articles as if someone was testing the waters."

"Maybe a beginner?"

"Who writes then such an article about the war? No, Bel, I can send it over, and you will agree that this isn't written by a twenty something. This is s pro, someone who knows things first hand."

"Is it stupid to ask if you have called the newspaper?"

"I did,” Lix posed, scribbling with a pen on paper. “They gave me a name. Francesca Graham."

"Well, then, it's obviously not him. Randall putting on the skirt for getting back into business? That's a bit too much, Lix."

Lix smiled at first, and then went on, “What would you say, when I tell you that their clerk told me that they never have met Miss Graham in real life? That everything was talked via email. The first contact, the agreement that she could write something for them and they would all see where it would go. That no one ever has seen her or has talked to her in real life."

There was a palpable silence between them, while the fact settled in, “You are shitting me!"

“Welcome to the 21st century, dear. They told me. After Miss Graham was willing to work for just half the usual price they were glad having someone with a bit of verve for writing. It's a small paper."

"Okay, okay, so to be clear here, you think Francesca Graham is actually Randall Brown. Does the name ring a bell? One would use a familiar name, wouldn’t one? Something with history."

"I am not sure, but I think he mentioned once that his mother's name was Francesca. I am not certain. I am certain that we both were very drunk having such conversations."

Bel gave it a long thought and then a sigh," Lix-"

"-they gave me an address."

Bel almost dropped the receiver, when the realisation hit her what that meant. What possibilities were about to rise.

After a minute Lix added, “There is a chance you go there, finding a lovely middle aged woman, who has never heard of a Randall Brown, or…”

 

“Or…,” suddenly Bel was afraid about the chances that it was him. “One year I hoped he would come back, gave life sign, and now there is one I am scared.”

“Bel, there is something else you should know.”

Without missing a beat Bel gave her an answer, “I think I already know, Lix. He has wings, and you knew all along.”

“Yes,” the older woman whispered.

Bel thought about it, trying to find the connections. Why Lix knew, what reason could there that Randall would tell her, aside from that he once had been in love with her. “You have them too?”

“I had, there are gone now,” Lix knew it was no good to lie to her friend.

“Gone?”

“It’s a long story,” for a moment Lix is away, in the past, when their child was still alive. “In case you’ll find Randall, he’ll tell you,” someone knocked at Lix’s door. “Listen, I gotta go, I’ll send you the address. Good luck — I hope it’s him.”

The line went dead, and Bel placed the receiver aside her phone, turning in her chair to look out of the window. It was now raining cats and dogs.

Then she heard her Email make a sound, and she turned around finding a mail from Lix, with all the information she needed. Quickly she printed the information out.

In the same moment it knocked at her door, and when Bel locked up, she saw her new Head of News stood in the doorframe, Mister Fenley.

Looking at her misplaced phone receiver, “That explains, why I couldn’t reach you.”

“Mister Fenley,” Bel placed the receiver back, reaching then for the sheet of paper from the printer.

Fenley frowned at Bel, sensing something's not right. Bel usually isn’t so absent, “You okay?”

Bel looked at him, smirking, knowing Randall would have told her about a conference in half an hour, and that he hopes she hasn’t forgotten. It would have been his way of asking if everything is alright. All cryptic. She misses him.

“Mister Fenley, I am sorry, but I need some vacation.”

“Oh.”

“A sort of family emergency has occurred,” without waiting for his approval, she walks over to her locker and takes out her coat and her purse. “I am not sure, but a week will do.

Fenley was in the defensive, not pleased, but there is nothing he could do. Bel Rowley had her own head, that he knew already, “I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

With a pacing heart, Bel looked down, to the plastic bag that inherited Randall’s jacket. She glanced over to Fenley, before she reached for it, “It’s not about life and death when you mean that, but I need to go right away.”

“We’ll manage,” he nodded before turning away, leaving Bel alone again.

Before Bel was about to leave, she gave her office one last look. Anything forgotten? 

She would write Hector a mail from her phone, telling him everything was fine, that she might found Randall. He could keep a secret, she knew.

Her heart was still pacing when she turned off the office light, walking to her car. The address was in Scotland, in the middle of nowhere. The navigation system showed her a dot in the nothing, telling her that there were no streets and asked her if she really wanted to have that location as her aim.

Yes. 

Bel needed to know. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned. Not going to leave this story behind... it just needs time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is Randall now? What is he doing? How is he managing without Bel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, me the rubbish writer, finally decided to update. Sorry. It's NaNoWriMo, and I'll try to type every day a bit for this story. Mainly at work, but hey, what so ever! It's a plan!

The clicking of the computer keyboard filled the room. With the prickling fire in the living room the only sound around. No ringing of telephones. No chatters. No buzzing. No people.

It had been the hardest part of his new life. The ongoing silence. The missing hive of the newsroom. The hectic minutes before a new show was about to air. The pulsing of his veins, the rushing of his blood when there had been short term changes. The adrenaline. There was seldom silence in a newsroom, only this two seconds before they would go live on air. Only then. The most precious seconds of all, and the most gripping ones.

 

Now, it was just Randall typing his article on his laptop, two dim lights in the corners of the room and the fire. It was already evening and dark outside. With the dark came the cold, and as he had no real heater, he used to make a fire every evening, till it was burning hot in the little cottage. Sometimes he had to move to the bedroom, where it was a bit cooler then because it was just too warm. But only then it would stay warm all night, and he wouldn't need to stand up at night to feed the fire with another log. 

He had thought about buying an electrical heater, but when he had come here the winter had been almost over, and he wanted to find out if he could manage and in the summer he had postponed the idea. Now the winter had been a bit too warm and aside he had to stand up at night sometimes; he had decided not to buy one. Randall could manage the little discomfort — the cold air in the morning. The effort to build up a new building out of logs and paper and old pine cones. He didn’t mind; it kept him busy. 

 

The cottage was his own. For some strange reasons he had bought it after his father had died, leaving his only son a bit of money. His first impulse had been to buy a boat, but what does one want with a boat in London? Foremost Randall had no license to drive one. Let alone he sometimes got sea sick being on a small boat. 

Not wanting to put the money in his bank account he had spotted an advert from someone selling a cottage in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. And so he had dialled the number, had asked if the cabin was okay if there was any trick and after the guy had assured him it was in great condition he gave a positive answer. No haggling and no visitation before. 

He never really used it, just came by here and there to check on it, and after he had found a willing caretaker, he told the young man to look after it. So he got an email twice a year, about some repairs that had been made and the costs, and it was all right for him. 

Randall could have sold it, but with getting his wings and knowing the circumstances he thought it might come in handy one day. A good backup plan. Good to hide away from people and the rest of the world. Bel inclusive. 

 

The first few months he had barely left his property. His wings had demanded to be free all the time. In the first two weeks, he wouldn’t have been able to open the mailman, if one would have come by. The pain of holding his wings had been horrible, and so he had decided to leave them be. He had food and water enough stacked in the house and his interest in going to town meeting people was at the lowest point possible. Randall wanted to be alone and had to be. Think about what had happened, and try to figure out how to live his life from now on. Living like a hermit he could for a bit, but after a while, he would feel the need to connect with the outside again. He knew himself all too well. He missed working as a journalist.

Randall was used to working all the time. There had never been a phase in his life where he had been without a job. Since the time back when he was a young man taking the low paid job at a local newspaper because everything he had wanted was being a journalist, there had always been a job. Now it was the first time he was without one. Not able to take one, even if offered.

After three months he had settled into a routine. His wings also. They were out all the time. Except for a couple of hours on Thursday because then Randall had to go run errands. It seemed they agreed with him and didn't bother him with pain through that time.

In the beginning, when he was working around the house he was afraid people would see him, but he lived at the end of a very long street, and he was thoughtful enough to install a shield that said "private property" so no one ever came around.

 

Chopping wood days over days and repairing the cottage all by himself gave him some relaxed feeling. As if he was able to get used to it. This lifestyle. Being close to nature, finding out he was able to do more as running a busy newsroom. That he could build things, could manage the wildlife. Not that it was such dangerous wildlife. The next town wasn’t far away and he had electricity and was able to flush the toilet without leaving the house. 

Also, him living in London, Glasgow and other big cities through his life, always around people -- this was new. 

He had always been a loner, someone who could be alone in his office for days, but he always had known that he only had to step into the newsroom or onto the streets and there were people. Randall was able to get into a small talk — most of the time he just didn’t want to. And now, even he wanted to; he couldn’t. His wings didn’t allow him to do so. In general, his safety net was missing.

His mail he let deliver to the local post station at town. Not that he got a lot of letters these days. The town was quiet and at first people regarded him with a frowning look, as the stranger he was. But after time they started to know his face and seemed to agree he was a man without thread. 

Randall kept away, never searched conversations but when someone asked him who he was and if he liked living there, he was polite and friendly. He was Mister Brown for everyone. No need to change that very common name. His letters also he had delivered to a postal number. Not unusual for people living at the corners of almost no civilisation.

 

In the post office, the older lady working there asked him one day if he had Internet "up there" and he wondered about that question so much that he forgot to answer.

She had smiled gently at him telling him, that they had this new service of sending out notifications with email so he knew if he had to pick something up or not.

 

No, he hadn't, he was lucky having electricity, but there was no phone line. Not that he missed the Internet. Also.. sometimes he wanted to check the news. Research something. See what was going on in the world. 

Or was it just his undying need to type down the web address of his old job to look at the pictures of the staff? Find out if Bel was still working there.

He could write her an email he thought, and before he could tell himself it was not a good idea the old lady had told him about a prepaid thing. A USB stick. Not the fastest but good enough for emails and a bit of surfing round. He took one with him before his head could overrule his heart.

And so it came that he slowly returned to working. After finding out that Bel Rowley was still working at The Hour, he felt the bitter taste of regret and the only thing that ever had helped to fight that feeling down was either drink himself senseless or to dive into a pile of work. 

Option Number one had been ruled out two decades ago, and so he found himself browsing different job site for hours. A bit before his head was close to falling down onto the keyboard he found a little advert from a local newspaper. He knew it, not well, but his professional eye had spotted potential while waiting in the post office in line and reading a few articles on the front page from afar. 

They were looking for a sort of reporter and commentator, someone who was willing to write about politics and on a whim and because he was tired as hell, he decided to write them an email. Aside from being very tired that night he knew it would be wrong to tell them who he really was. They would google him and think he was joking; he could be found and be connected with The Hour and his time in the Jugosloaws Wars quickly. In a short but firm panic attack of what to sign with he decided on Francesca Graham. 

 

To his surprise, he got a message the next morning in his account, from a young man (he googled him of course) showing interest. Randall had kept a low profile, making himself to a woman in the mid of his thirties, telling he once had studied economic and politics and had written in London for smaller newspapers. He had added a couple of articles he had on his notebook, from his time as a beginner. Those articles couldn’t be found in any digital archive, and so he was safe in case the newspaper would check for it. 

Freddie Lyon, the name of the young chief editor, wrote him he had been impressed and interested in a work collaboration. Also, the pay wouldn’t be good, and there was no chance of a regular job. 

As the headquarter was fifty miles away Randall and Freddie agreed to Randall’s happiness on a digital contract. The never would meet in person, and he could send his article in via mail. The payment would be delivered via paypal. 

After sorting all the details out Randall had leaned back into his stool, surprised how easy all this had been. Now he was able to work a bit without anyone knowing who he was. No one ever would find him. 

He was as pleased as disgusted with himself.

It didn’t stop him to check once a week for Bel Rowley’s picture. And every time his fingers hovered over the keyboard in need to write her. Knowing he couldn’t he then used to leave the house to chop wood or just take a walk in the misty weather. Sorting out his feelings only to come home realizing there was no chance to sort anything out. He missed her, and he felt horrible that he had let her down like that. 

Bel hadn’t any of those public social media things, like facebook or twitter so he couldn’t find anything out about her private life. If she was maybe related by now. Surely she wasn’t waiting for him, as he had made his point clear. 

Sitting on his sofa, sipping some hot tea, he gave his own loneliness a tired and bitter smile. He could imagine very well, that Bel was with someone right now. Some dashing Hector Madden or so, taking her out for dinner and what else grown up people do when they date each other. 

Going to bed, he brought his wings around his body, giving himself a feeling of warmth and being held till he fell asleep. Being pathetic wouldn’t help him, he knew that, but it was a year, and he still had no plan. A plan for what even? 

Sometimes he wished Lix was round and still with her wings. A useless thought and therefore pointless hope. And nothing he wanted. 

 

Days passed and with them the weeks, and Randall was just typing down an article when he heard a vehicle drive up to the side of his cottage. For a few seconds he couldn’t place the sound of it. It rarely happened that someone drove up to him. The “private property” sign was still visible and the last time someone came up was 7 months ago.

From his spot, he couldn’t see the front, and so he just waited if he heard the car drive away again — just doing a turnaround, but nothing of it happened. Instead, he heard the engine die and a car door going shut.

That was odd. Closing his laptop he made his wings disappear. Then he walked to the front door, glancing out the window only to see a rental car and a shadow moving by his door. Not knocking yet. Randall put on his best grim expression and ripped open the door.

 

The last real shock Randall had was quite a bit ago. Probably when he was in the war and someone started firing at him and his cameraman, out of a rundown building. When he told the guy to run left and he would run right. Finding himself in a dead end and he would have probably died when there wouldn't have been a child of maybe 12 showing him a secret way out.

In the fraction of the second he opened the door and to realise who was standing there in front he couldn't quite decide what the bigger shock was.

But Bel Rowley standing on his small front porch was close to the lead.

His body got filled with cold and hot at the same time and his stomach clenched uncomfortable. His mind went blank while his mouth seemed in try to utter something like a hello or her name. He couldn't be sure if that had worked out as the back of his mind suddenly filled his head with all those thoughts he had more or less kept down. Had regulated. Now a well was breaking and little scenes of the past flashed up.

Bel and him dancing. Bel hooking her arm under his, walking toward her apartment. Their confidence with each other. Confidence in the idea of taking her upstairs, spending the night with her.

Randall had never forgotten. Not how she had tasted, her tongue in his mouth, his hands around her waist. The way she had hummed satisfied after the kiss ended. Her confusion after Randall had come to mind telling her it couldn't be. His heart aching when he had thrown her out. The dreams of her when he had taken his refugio here in the middle of nowhere.

There must have been something like a whispered "Bel" as her eyes lit up for a moment as if she had been sure he had not only left her behind but also had decided to forget about her and even her name.

Bel Rowley was prepared for the worst, Randall thought and after endless seconds had ticked by he tried to figure what to do. What was best. For him? Or for her? He couldn’t even decide on that point. How rubbish was he?

And then Bel decided for both of them. Turning around, about to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Bel stay? Will Randall be able to explain himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I always write the beginning of the next chapter after I posted the recent one, only to have two field days at work, a heck of work at home or some other shit going on, and then I have to postpone writing for a day or two or a week or two. For the people who don't know and follow me on Insta, I am about to build a real life Tardis, and that cost me also energy and time (no shitting here!). I am not just laying on the couch binge watching tv-shows ;).  
> Anyway, thanks for all the lovely comments, and for reading!

Bel had driven up the long driveway, gathering all the strength and courage she could find in herself. Telling herself through the whole journey that it must be Randall — had to be. Going through her mind what she wanted to say to him. Playing out entire dialogues in her mind. Going through anger and pain. Happiness and sorrow. 

When she had reached the sign “private property” she felt a growing confidence that she was in the right place — close to Randall. Someone with the name Francesca Graham wouldn’t hang up a sign like this. At least in Bel’s imagination.

Her pulse felt like she had been running a marathon, her blood pumped through her veins so fast and hard she could feel it in her temples. She was nervous. Not only nervous nervous but nervous. For a second she believed she was about to faint when suddenly, without her having knocked against the wooden door, it got ripped open, and she looked into the grim face of the man she had searched for a year. Randall Brown.

His facial expression went from grim to surprise and shock in under one second, and this should have given her trust, but her courage collapsed like a cardhouse. 

While driving up to the cottage she had tried to persuade herself not to have any ideas of how Randall would appear. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had believed he probably had himself let go. Growing a full beard, running around in used denims and a dirty shirt, maybe even smelling like alcohol because he was missing London, was desperate with his situation and foremost was still thinking and yearning for Bel. 

Instead, Randall was clean shaven, wearing a white button up shirt under a grey jumper, some dark trousers. His hair had grown out a bit, but he looked fine. Dapper as she remembered him to be back in London. No indication that he had suffered any loss. No evidence that he had regretted his move to come here to the middle of nowhere. 

That gave her confidence the death blow, and while she saw him form her name with his mouth, she stumbled slightly back.

A mistake to come here. A mistake to believe Bel could convince him to come back with her or at least, to explain her everything. Panic settled in and quickly she turned on her heels in need to return to her car. 

She was wearing trainers instead of her usual heels and still almost fell. The ground was soft from the rain of the night before. Luckily she could regain her balance; it would have been horrible for her to fall into the dirt in front of Randall.

Why was the sun even shining, she thought while fleeing. Shouldn’t it rain? Shouldn’t it be the middle of the night, full moon, horrible weather? All dramatic and cliche? Instead, it was noon, sunshine; birds were singing, and she even could hear a few sheep in the distance. Everything felt strange and wrong, and the feeling in her chest gave her such a hard time that she wanted to fall onto the ground so she could cry out in front of the man she felt she had fallen in love.

‘How has that happened?’ she scolded herself while fiddling with the keys to the car. ‘To all the people in the world  _ that  _ has happened to you!’ Falling in love with a man she barely knew. After one kiss and a flimsy promise of dating.

Was it so? That she knew him only barley? For a second, a memory flashed up, of Randall standing in front of her bookshelf. She had often looked at that shelf, seeing him stand there, sorting her books. The way they used to talk in the morning and the way she always could be sure he would bring her coffee.

Why had she locked the damn car? The clerk had told her that the battery of the remote hadn’t been changed and therefore she probably had to lock and unlock the vehicle manually.

“Like in the good ol’ times,” he had grinned, and she had wondered how this 19-year-old kid with spots all over his face could know about the times one had to open the car by actually using the key. Being 32 Bel barely could remember it. Also she  _ could  _ remember it.

‘Oh, for god sake!’ she thought close to cry out loud and then a hand slipped under her arm, warm fingers embracing. Holding tight but not with force. Startled Bel turned around, shaking herself free from the grip, finding Randall in front of her.

She hadn’t noticed that he had followed, had thought he had stepped back inside, doing as if nothing ever had happened.

For a moment she was angry, in a rage almost, and close to lunge forward giving him a slap in the face. It was something he deserved, but nothing she wanted to do. It wasn’t her right to do that, and so she just glared at him. 

He looked vulnerable. Dapper, but when she took a closer look, Bel could see a hint of sadness in his eyes.

Randall’s mouth went open and close and instead of coherent words it was only a mix of stammering and losing his voice that came out. A hundred questions wanted to get out at once. How Bel had found him. Why she was here. On purpose? Had something happened? How was she? She looked so unhappy.

“Don’t,” was everything he could manage to say, but with a calm and clear voice. “Please, don’t.”

Bel lowered her gaze to Randall's hand on her forearm. She had guessed it would make him take his hand away because Randall never appeared to be the man to show what he wanted in his personal life.

Letting his hand rest there gave Bel the impression he was invested. In what?

"It was a mistake to come here."

Randall frowned, his hand slowly letting go, but when Bel wanted to climb into the car he reached once more for her elbow.

"It was," he said not harsh but with a particular tone of assurance in his voice and this time it was Bel who frowned.

"Then why-" she glared reproachfully at his hand before he interrupted.

"It was a mistake to come here - without making my goodbyes. Especially not to you."

How she hated him for being so disarming in this moment. The man who was a riddle to most people and also to her most of the time always knew when to lower his guards. Not that Bel had seen him do it very often. Maybe once with Lix but most of the time he used to say something riddlesome before leaving the room leaving a befuddled person behind.

Bel had no other way to go as to give in. She had spent a bloody year to find him. That's what she told him.

"Why would you do something like that to you? " he finally let go, stepping back looking at her in a lack of understanding.

There Bel saw that Randall had his insecurities as much as Bel had hers. That he hadn’t done this lightly or without any regret. That it had been probably one of the hardest decisions he had ever made. On the outside, he had been harsh and selfless, but his inside feelings now showed. 

He was sorry, had been sure Bel had forgotten him the day a new Head of News had arrived at The Hour. 

She gave him an inaudible sigh, "Do you really think I care for you so little?"

It hit him. The knowledge that she indeed never had given up on him. Followed by regret. Time wasted with not writing her.

He quarrelled with himself for a moment.  "Come... Will you come in? Please," he then offered.

Bel nodded, and Randall stepped slowly toward the house always looking back making sure she would follow.

While going those short meters toward the entrance Bel couldn't oversee to look at his back. Wondering what had happened in this year with him and his wings. There was curiosity of course; she had to admit it. "Randall?"

He turned while standing on the small porch looking at her curiously. A twitch with her eyes made him understand. Giving her a low smile, he let his wings slowly come out.

As smoke used to do, the blue colour crawled at first in slow pace over his back, then split rising and floating over his shoulders. The rest sank down to the ground building up a tip that almost touched the wooden porch. It happened in silence and while Bel watched in awe, Randall watched her with a heavy heart.

When his wings had burst out over a year ago, Bel had been in shock, and the situation had been too full of emotions and distress that after she had reached home that day, she hadn't been able to remember how his wings had looked exactly.

How beautiful they were, how light and elegant they seemed to be. The colour, a dark blue fluctuating here and there from light to dark or vice versa. Like the sea after a storm and like Randall's eye colour she remembered looking into. After the kiss, wondering if they were green, blue or just an undiscovered colour.

Bel noticed that Randall was relaxed and without pain, "You got used to them?"

For a few seconds Randall directed his gaze into the distance as if there was a ranger who needed to take care of the sheep and he was watching. Then his wings vanished as elegant as they had come out. 

"No," with that he turned round and stepped inside. "I didn't expect a visitor, I'll make a fire," he said then, already approaching the fireplace. "It can get cold, very quickly in the evening."

Bel nodded unsure what to do. She wasn't used to such moments. Many questions hovering in the room, misunderstandings and hurt feelings and Randall was acting as if they just had seen yesterday, about to make a fire. Making it comfortable.

It was probably his way to deal with it. Sorting out his pacing thoughts while making a fire, Bel thought. Looking around she spotted the kettle in the open kitchen, "I'll make tea."

Hearing her announcement, he looked up and turned with her moving to the kitchen. All resolute she filled the kettle with water and began to search the shelves for the things she needed. "The sugar is on the left shelf," he commented before returning to build a fire.

For a few minutes, they bustled around for themselves. Doing some things a second time as if something needed to be checked and controlled. Afraid to finish, afraid to turn and face the other.

Bel was the first to lose her nerves and temper, "Then why, and that's the question I can't find an answer to since you have left," she pressed her hands hard onto the surface of the counter, her back facing him, "why on earth didn't you call then? Or write?" she whirled around to face him only to find him stand in the middle of the room. Only two meters away from her.

"I was afraid."

Bel considered Randall. Her eyes settled down on his hands that hung by his side. She spotted a bit of ash on the tip of his left hand. The fire was now slowly growing in the fireplace.

With a frustrated huff, she held out the cup of tea she had made for him. 

"You knew," she began when he had taken the mug from her hand, "about me being interested in wing carriers. That I had written some small articles about them. I didn't even hide that little spot in my office, where I pinned down all my researches." At first, Bel was calm, considering but with every word she talked herself into a soft uproar. 

As a journalist, it was her nature that she wanted to understand things. And when she couldn't find a grasp, she became dissatisfied and angry with herself for not finding the way to do so. "God, you even gave a little comment here and there, like you were testing the water," she began to laugh unnerved. "You hired me because of it."

Randall noted it wasn't a doubting question, “I hired you for other reasons too, in case - "

" - no! Don't do this, Randall!" she interrupted. "You knew all that and... Still, you didn't trust me."

"I was overwhelmed that day; I was in a panic."

"Why not call and explain yourself later? Why not appreciate my trustworthy. And I am... Or did you ever doubt it?"

"Never," it came without a moment of hesitation. "But what would it have helped? The situation is as it is."

Bel leant back, "Oh, so that's your reaction? That's the one man I thought was a hell of a journalist? The man I heard was used to be reckless and able to overcome doubt."

"It isn't about a story, Bel," he rebuffed. "This is about me and my personal life! What do you expected me to do? With those things on my back? Walk back into the office, doing my job, while everybody stares at me. Whispers. Sets out rumours. There is a reason people like me live in the dark."

"But people don't care!" she called out.

"And that's how it should stay! They don't care because we play by the rules! Imagine us stepping into the light of the public eye. People would get afraid. Of us. Because they don't understand it. People always get afraid of things they don't understand and therefore unable to accept it. I've seen too many wars born out of fear. The moment you get the wings you also get an understanding of not stepping into the next boulevard show and showing yourself around. You arrange your life and if you can't hide them anymore you step-down. That’s the rule."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"No, Randall, it's not. It's the shackles you put yourself into. Your fear is a good excuse for you for not taking matters into your own hands."

"It's easy for you to say, Bel."

Bel exhaled loudly putting down the mug, and walking toward the door, "It is never easy for anybody. Nothing ever is."

Randall watched her step into the late evening. He knew she wasn't about to leave; her jacket was still hanging over the couch. He figured she just needed a bit of air and so he let her have it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for you when you spotted the DoctorWho quote! ;) Not that hard.   
> Also, I hopefully could explain a bit about the wings and why nobody cares about it. Some maybe have questioned why there is then a problem for the carriers... (because I started to ask me that myself ;D) and the last bit about "better stay in the dark so we not going to be a "threat" to the others" sounds like an explanation because I think that's how it is...it's... a metaphor...?!
> 
> Stay tuned, next chapter is in the making.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel and Randall have a conversation.

After ten minutes Randall had started a slow pace in the small living room. Glancing outside the window every half minute hoping to spot Bel outside but except her car he didn't saw her. After twenty he decided he had to look for her, afraid she had went lost or something more serious had happened.

With long strides, he walked to the door and ripped it open only almost to stumble over Bel who sat on the wooden porch hugging herself. It was close to dawn, and the temperature had gone down.

In relief Randall relaxed a bit, watching Bel who just had turned her head the slightest when he had made himself noticeable. Her hair was loose and the wind tangled with it. Seeing her shiver made him turn on his heels, walking back inside.

"Here," he placed a blanket over her shoulders and caught a surprise face. He couldn't suppress a small smirk. “You thought I just let you sit here and get a cold, didn't you? " He settled aside her, fiddling with the corners of the blanket, so she was packed well and shoved it in the end into her hands.

Bel didn't answer his question, only gave him a short chuckle. "It's rather beautiful out here. Very lonely but beautiful,” she pointed to the hills where dawn slowly was settling in.

Randall glanced into the distance. Indeed it was a beautiful place, but after being out here for a year, he had looked beyond the beauty, only having found emptiness and loneliness. He gave himself a short sigh, “How did you find me?”

The question had to pop up earlier or later, she knew, "It wasn't exactly me," Bel admitted. “Lix helped a bit,” Randall commented it with a hum. Bel went on, "Francesca Graham.”

By now he had guessed he had uncovered himself with his writing for the little newspaper. He brushed a few curls out of his forehead," My Grandmother's name on my Mother's side was Francesca."

"We guessed so," Bel looked at him, at his hair that got ruffled by the wind. Seeing him that close she saw that he indeed had changed. There always had some sort of accuracy with Randall, with his hair, even after he had got rid of the product in it. Now she guessed, he only saw a hairdresser once in three months when his hair fell into his eyes maybe. When water and a bit of product weren't able to tame them anymore. The 110% accuracy lost. "And Graham?"

Randall waited a few seconds with the answer, feeling Bel’s eyes on him. On his hair. Feeling her curiosity, almost feeding off of it a bit. He missed that feeling, being around people who were eager to report, to ask questions. He missed being in a newsroom. Not to say, he missed being around Bel, who he always thought was a good, hardworking producer and journalist. "A good man I knew in the war,” he finally answered. “He didn't make it."

They fell silent for a bit and when Randall started to shiver he decided it was no good to sit in the cold while inside was a warm fire crackling. "Come on; it's getting dark, and I am sure you are hungry. I'll cook you dinner." He did not offer her a hand, just stood up and went inside and Bel followed him without questions.

On the inside she sat down on the sofa, the blanket still around her shoulders. It was soft and comfy and foremost had a whiff of Randall on it. It calmed her. 

Randall gave her a short glance seeing her smile gently and lost in thought, wondering what the reason was, and then decided not to ask and started to cook them a bit of pasta.

Bel watched him. Every move, how his hands reached for a spoon and how his fingers elegantly mixed some spices into the slow cooking sauce. She always had a soft spot for his hands. Long graceful fingers sorting her books, brushing over the back of her hand while kissing her.  
She knew she shouldn’t ponder on old memories. A year had passed. Things were different now. ‘Stop being silly,’ she told herself in silence and concentrated on the fire and soon got drawn into the ever-changing picture of the flickering flames. 

Only when Randall held a bowl with pasta in front of her, she shrugged out of her state.   
“Thanks,” Bel took it and watched Randall sit across from her on a modest chair. The room didn’t give much space for a dinner table, and as if Randall could read her thoughts, he said; “The cabin lacks a bit of area when one has guests,” he blushed slightly, thinking of him as a bad host. 

Sometimes he missed his old apartment in London. Not too big, enough for him, but big enough to have a few guests plus a good spare room. Not that he ever had many guests or anyone staying overnight. It didn’t matter anymore. The apartment was gone.

Bel smirked, “Glad you never been in my apartment, it’s not bigger as this… well, okay, a bit. But-,” suddenly she didn’t know why she told him, “I mean, uhm…,” She spared them both the pathetic argument, of “not that there ever was a reason to come to my apartment”.

“Yellow walls.”

Tilting her head, while the fork raked round the noodles absently, she frowned at him. 

It hadn’t been his intentions to say something, it just had happened, “I mean...that’s how I always have imagined it. Your apartment. Part of it. With yellow walls. With colours. Lively. Like that seriously, cheesy yellow lamp on your desk in the office.” Randall hoped Bel would say something to stop him from talking, but she didn’t and therefore he felt the need to correct himself, “Not that it is that cheesy… not… well…”

She had learned from the best, keeping a serious face, while being warmed by the lovely way of Randall getting nervous and losing his confidence. “Yes?”

“What I want to say is, it’s a ridiculous lamp,” he put the bowl into his lap, holding it with one hand. 

“I have it from a flea market. Five quits.”

He couldn’t hide his emotions about the price, “What I want to say is, is that it’s not such a ... buyable lamp. It could use a bit of paint, and the yellow is just a tad too much. Nobody would buy it -- except you.”

“What makes me as ridiculous as the lamp, isn’t that what you want to say?”

“I dismiss that.”

“God, Randall, come straight! More as three riddles a day by you I can’t manage!” it slipped her a bit loud, but not without a smile.

“Where I see discarded metal… you see… more,” he slowly raised the bowl again. “That’s what makes you so unique.” With that, he started eating. 

Avoiding her looks, Bel knew it was all he would say to it. That odd, silly man in front of her, grey hair. 20 years her senior. With irks and quirks. Utterly complicated and the only thing she could think of was, that she wanted to spend more times like this with him. 

They ate in silence after that and Bel finally noticed how hungry she was. It had been a long drive and because she had been so nervous there was not much she had eaten.

"That was excellent, Randall."

"Thank you. Just some pasta."

"I met men who couldn't even cook that."

Randall didn't know how to comment it and just nodded briefly before taking the plates away. As it was his way he washed them right away and then put them to dry aside from the sink. When he turned round cleaning his hands dry with a towel, he found Bell lean against the counter watching him. He hadn't heard her move and wondered for how long she already stood there.

Bel had seen him reach for his shoulders here and there. Had seen him tense his muscles while cleaning his plates and decided to go into the outstanding confrontation.

"I thought you don't hide them anymore.",

He saw right through her, "Yes, I don't."

"And yet-"

"-and yet what?" he snapped with growl. "Bel, please."

"No, Randall. You can't live like that. Hide from the world, and aside you told me you trust me you... you still hide your wings. What is there to be afraid of right now?"

The fact that he couldn't explain himself properly unnerved him much and often kept him up at night. There was no reasonable explanation.

"I don't want you to... to see me as just that."

"As what? Not want me to see you as a wing-carrier?"

"Not want me to see me as the abstract figure I am anyway. Abnormal. Disarranged. I ain’t a normal being without them. I am well aware of it. The tics and the OCD, I am damaged. I know. All my life,” he broke off for a moment, to not lose his nerves completely. “Those wings,... they just make me look like a … freak - a monster."

Not wanting to believe what she just heard, Bel quickly stepped closer and reached for his hand, but Randall only stepped back, yanking his hand away she had been able to touch just the slightest.

That she was in his home was way too much for him. Since she had set foot in his place, he felt how his heart had stopped to obey his body. Beat hard and fast. How she made him blush, how she made him nervous. How Bel Rowley made his wings tingle - a mystery. No one did, only other wing-carriers.   
Randall was able to hide his wings for a whole day when necessary. He had tried out. Now, he only had hidden them for a couple of hours, and they already started to give him hell. 

Bel wanted to tell him that he wasn’t a monster, nor a freak. That he was special — to her. Because of many things, and yes, because he had wings. But they weren’t in the newsroom; she wasn’t allowed to push him here in his private home so far. She was afraid it would part them too much.   
After this long year, there was a healing process they had to go through. It didn’t help telling Randall what he was and what not, he had to find out himself. 

Just when Bel wanted to tell him that they might call it a day, Randall surprised her - once more - diving into a conversation, "Why is that? Your interest in wing-carriers? What reason or motivation is there? That's what I've always wondered."

As she was overrun by his questions, she started to fumble with her fingers for a moment before she slowly settled onto the sofa. Randall only nodded and sat onto the chair.

"I don't know,” she admitted. “Some people are interested in this, some in that and I always wondered about... wing-carriers."

Randall watched her intently. And knowing Bel for so long he knew when she was nervous, unsure or telling a lie. There was a reason, and he wanted to know. He dared say he needed to know.

Bel saw a frown build up on his forehead, and it told her he could read her lie, "Okay that's not the whole truth. I was a kid. 9. 10. Something like that. We spent the holidays always near some family outside of London. Where you could let the children run without being worried, they would get killed by a truck or a lunatic. That's what my mother used to say. It was a warm day, and I was playing with the others. Hide and seek. 

"While I tried to find a good hiding spot I found that man. It was Douglas, the man from the post office. Middle aged. No wife or kids so far I remember. Always nice and polite. He knew me, always gave me a sweet or made chit chat with me. But there he seemed so out of place. Tired. In agony. You might... ."

Well known symptoms. "Yes."

"He told me not to be afraid, and funnily enough I wasn't."

"W-what colour...?"

Bel could relate to the question. The colour was always something that seemed to move people. "Emerald Green. I've never seen such colours before and when I am honest I've never seen it again."

"What happened then?"

"Nothing. We didn't talk much. Only brief. He told me I had to keep it a secret, that my parents wouldn't believe me. And he meant it. It wasn't a scare tactic that I knew. I never saw him again. A few days later Mrs Pond was now running the post office. I asked for him, of course. But they told me that he had left. Back to Bristol. Not sure if they lied or if it was something Douglas had set up. A few years later I tried to find him again, but… nothing. He was gone. Vanished. Like so many of you."

Randall gave it a long sigh, leaning forward he massaged his left hand with his right, staring onto the floor. Apparently lost in thought. After all those years, where he had told himself, it was as it was, he still was in search for answers. After a minute or so, he rose, directing his looks at Bel, “It’s in us.”

Bel glanced up at him, not sure what he meant.

With a gesture of his head he tried to give the words a bit of emphasis, but of course, Bel couldn’t understand it. He hesitated. “When I was in the midst of my twenties, I met a man, somewhere in town. When two of us pass each other, we … we can feel it. We know what we are and because I was young and a bit more reckless as today, I demanded answers from him. I thought, there had to be answers, that I just was a young kid, having missed the newsletter about it. Not having received the manual,” scratching his head he smirked at the thought. “It’s in us, was the only answer I ever got. That they guide us. All rubbish!”

“Have you tried?” 

“Tried what?”

“Let them guide you,” Bel offered. 

Torn between Bel’s soft accusation and his personal demands for himself, he bit hard on the inside of his cheeks. “They guided me here,” Randall pointed into the room. There was more he wanted to say. The both saw and felt it.   
Oh, how the only thing was to give in, delete the last year, rewind to that one night. In his head, he saw the scene of them talking about having lunch the next day, and him letting her go.   
If he had a second chance, he would return to that moment. Doing the right thing. 

However, when Randall had learned one thing from life, that there weren’t second chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I can update once more before Christmas. I'll try my very best!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel has to spend the night in Randall's cabin. Will she stay? Or will he maybe return with her to London?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long necessary update on this fic. Sorry for the delay. Was planing out this whole thing in my head and hope to provide quicker updates from now.

It then went dark quickly, and Randall offered her his bedroom twice. Bel declined, having invaded his home like this she had no right, and she was sure to manage the sofa. Also, she would be close to the fire, and that she liked.

Reading in Randall's face that he didn't like the situation, she couldn't say if it was her declining the bed (as Randall was one of the rare men still having manners) or the situation in general with her being here.

He took her decision with a serious face and vanished into the small bedroom that was only separated by a sliding door from the rest and rummaged around his wardrobe. After a minute he returned with a neatly folded pack of clothes. A sweater and a pair of jogging pants, so she had something to sleep and to stay warm in.

"Thank you," Bel took the package from Randall and thought he would say something more. Instead, he wished her a good night and retreated into his room for the night.

Bel gave the moment a soft sigh, staring into the fire before she realised how tired she was. So she put another log on top of the gleaming fire and changed quickly into Randall's old clothes. They were comfy and a bit too big for her, but she liked it and snuggled under the soft blankets he had provided.

Quicker as thought Bel fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

At some point, Bel couldn't tell when and why, she shrugged out of her sleep.

After a moment of confusion she saw the fire about to die. It must have been the fading crackling that had made her aware in her sleep of it. For a few seconds she listened into the night. The room was only lit by the glow of the fire and from outside. The moon was half and gave everything a soft shadow.

Bel pushed the blanket aside and went over to the staple of wood. It had been a while she had to take care of a fire, but she remembered that would make no sense to simply put one of the bigger logs onto the gleam. So she reached for a couple of pine cones and placed them carefully on top of it.  
Slowly she watched the fire come back to life. Followed by smaller pieces of wood she then placed two logs on top of it. With luck it would be fine till morning.

Still kneeling in front of the fire Bel warmed her hands and yawned. For a moment she thought Randall had found a nice place here in Scotland. Almost romantically. Not that she thought he was that kind of man, but she was sure that Randall had many hidden interests and features he had well hid from the world.

A creak made her glance up, finding Randall stand there in his pyjamas and dressed in a grey robe.

"The fire was about to die, " Bel explained as in a reflex, worried he would wonder why she was up.

Randall looked first at her, a bit too long in her opinion, and then to the fire that was now beautifully flickering.  
"I have to feed it once a  night, usually, " he said, and one of his hands reached up to the his shoulder in absence. Pushing fingers into muscles.

Bel saw his gesture and read the reason only to turn back to the fire again, realising that there was no romantic at all in this place. The fire had to be fed day in day out, the wood had to be chopped and so many other things.

No, this place wasn't meant to be romantic - not for the long stay- it was meant to keep someone busy. Distracting someone from all the thoughts and worries of the outside world.

Bel stood up looking at Randall who hadn't moved. The fire had absorbed him and she could see the flames be mirrored in his eyes. Lost in thought he was, and Bel wondered where he was.

"Doesn't they hurt you?" she asked suddenly and he snapped back into the now.

"No," was his answer and he felt the need to go back to bed to avoid the conversation, but his feet didn't obey his head.

"Liar," Bel stepped a bit closer. "I am not a Sherlock Holmes, but a good enough journalist to sense when someone lies."

Again his eyes laid slightly too long on her, when he answered, "Plus you know me."

She had expected him to dodge, or to come up with another excuse and a denial instead of this. So those words threw her off her track. Randall always had been good with that. Confusing people. Giving riddlesome answers. Rile her up. 

Did she know him? She glanced away, "No, I don't."

Randall smiled gently, looking down to her feet for a moment. She was wearing the pair of thick woollen socks he had given her with the rest of his clothes.  
A year of isolation had done something with him, and Bel Rowley coming to find him had even done more to him, "If not you, then I am certain there is no one else in this world. What would make this story rather sad, wouldn't it?"

Frowning she wondered if Randall always had been so sarcastic or it it was a trade he only had developed in his exile.

Suddenly the situation made her nervous, and she fumbled with the edge of the jumper, agitated she waved with her hand in the air, "I am sure there are others. Lix as an example."

Randall huffed amused, "No. No more. Not as good as you." The pain in his back was easing away and he couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for it.

He hadn’t let them out since Bel had arrived except for the short moment on the porch. Woken by pain, he had still denied them their freedom and now he felt the pain lower, instead of getting worse. The only explanation was the woman in front of him, because - in retroperspective - when Bel had been around him in the past his wings seldom did what he expected them to do.

After a minute of them just eyeing the other, Bel lost her nerve, "Where is this going, Randall?"

He bit hard on the inside of his cheeks, "It was the wrong decision, I admit that. But a year back it seemed the only way."

"I told you-"

Randall rose a hand gently touching her forearm, "I wanted to write you. Day and night. I thought coming here would make me forget my old life. At the beginning it was hard but the urge to go back to The Hour faded and so I hoped."

"Hoped? "

"Hoped the memory of you would also fade," Randall said, eyes filled with pain. "God, Bel you didn't even became a memory. Like a vivid dream, I sometimes thought to hear you call out my name. Like on the office floors after a conference. When you couldn't accept my last word about an article or the one day I almost fired Hector." Randall laughed helplessly at her, his barricades falling down like dominos. "Once or twice I... I went to the door, checking. Expecting you standing on the porch pointing at your watch scolding me for being late for the editorial conference.

"When I go to bed, closing my eyes I still have your perfume in my nose, and see you smile at me. That... That night before I left. I've never forgotten. I have so much regret."

"Why is that?" she wasn't sure but expected him to tell her he should never have come down to the bar, let alone kiss her.

"I shouldn't have...," why was it so that he wasn't able to tell the words? He glanced down.

"Leave with me after we had left the bar? " Bel offered.

With piercing eyes his head shot up again, seeing Bels doubts, "No. "

He stepped closer now standing right in front of her. Like one year ago.  
"I shouldn't have left you at your apartment. I should have..."

From Bel fell a huge fear. The distance between the producer and the Head of News was mere an inch and she was sure when she would reach out or signal it Randall would bent down to kiss her. And because of the year spent in worry and desperateness, she found herself place a hand on his arm.

Randall slowly bent down, his hand curling around her arm gently but in the last second Bel put the other hand on his chest, "No." He quickly leaned back, confused. "I can't. I can't do this, we both know where this will lead and in the morning you will tell me that you won't return with me to London. Isn't it so?"

She was right, as always.

"How can I return? You know it's not possible."

"You have wings Randall not a deadly disease! Of course you can! Or what did you think? I give up my life and live with you in the outback? Or that I just visit you on the weekends?"

"I admit, I didn't think that far," Randall walked over to the table and set down. His hand reaching for a candle and some pens slowly shoving them around.

"Come back with me!" Bel set aside him, placing a hand over his left, stopping him from sorting. "We’ll find a way."

Randall entwined his fingers with hers, "There is no way."

"I know there is."

"Then you know more as anyone else," Randall said gently, knowing that Bel never was good with taking facts she disliked for granted.

"Lix. She lost her wings, I talked to her."

"She did, but... She doesn't know the reason. And even she knew... her reason hardly can be mine."

Randall glanced out of the window. In the distance the sun was about to dawn. Also it would take hours till light would reach the cabin. When he felt Bel’s hand cupping his cheek, he looked back at her. For a moment he wondered if he hadn’t have his wings, if he had found courage earlier. Asking her to go for a coffee with him, outside the office. 

Probably not, he mused, taking in her blue eyes, that were not only filled with sorrow but also loving feelings. He wasn’t good with asking women out on a date — too coy, too reserved. Too unsure of himself. Not that he thought he was bad looking. For his age he had a good figure. Slim and he had learned to treat his body. He lived healthily and had stopped smoking ten years ago. Alcohol was a no go anyway.

The main problem was that he not often related with people. Here and there he had met women while attending a conference, or having a tea in a cafe he used to visited frequently in London. Most women he had met he found nice, but taking a closer look he noticed the faults in them. And he was sure they noticed his faults too. In his opinion people were usually too loud, too much talking and less caring. Egoists, without knowing they are.

A few years back he met a young woman, a starting journalist, on an event he had to go. With one look he could see how she hated the event, and that she shared his thoughts on people. And with one look she made the same conclusion about him and walked over, engaged with him in a conversation. It was a nice evening with her and they had the same wavelength, but he was turning 50 soon and she was barely 25. When she left that evening, there was one second where they both considered the possibility but they both knew it wouldn’t last over a one night stand.

Later he met Bel, and he loved her for her flaws, her nervous talks, her befuddled expressions after he had said something cryptic and for her way of taking him and his imperfections.

  
For a moment Bel believed in an admission that would go over Randall’s lips. He looked so eager to finally spill about his real feelings, but she also sensed he not wanted to hurt her more as he had done already. Telling her about his feelings, would start to hurt the moment she sat in her car driving away. So the only thing he allowed him was pressing a soft kiss on her hand, eyes closed.

  
“You should take a hot shower, and I’ll make breakfast,” he stood up. “The sun will be up in a few hours, and one shouldn’t drive long ways on an empty stomach.”

Bel Rowley’s departure was settled.

 

Later

Bel placed her bag on the back seat, opened the front door and was about to settle down into the driver's seat, when she looked at Randall who kept standing on the last step of the porch, hands in pockets, with his grey jumper and the white shirt underneath. He had shaven in the morning and had down his hair a bit. Now looking like the old Randall back in London.

They had spent a breakfast with light chit chat and a lot of silence. Afterwards, as if it could help, Bel had observed every book and corner in Randall’s cabine, seeking in all the impressions that would become memories when she was back in London. Necessary bits that would help her to get going. 

Randall had let her, because while she looked around, he did as if cleaning the fireplace or sorting some stuff, secretly watching her. Knowing when she was gone, he would spent the days sitting by his table seeing her still sort round his place. Like a madman with nothing else to do. It seemed he was more wrecked as back in the war.

 

Something stopped Bel, and she froze, one hand on top of the car. 'Oh, damn it!' she thought letting go of the half open door and made a few steps toward him.

When she came closer Randall immediately stepped down taking his hands out of his pocket as if someone had pushed him from behind. Hope flashed up in him and before he could realise what was happening, Bel was in his arms, her hands gripping his jumper seeking a long necessary kiss.  
It was soft and sweet, and Randall fell into a void. A void in which nothing counted anymore. Not his wings, nor his inability of showing Bel how much he cared for her. Not the cabin and this unfair life. The only that counted was Bel he now held tight, one hand on the back of her head, the other at the small of her back. Never wanting to let her go.

It was stupid of her to do it. It would have been wise to simply leave. No aggrandized scene, but she couldn't. Looking at him she became aware that there was a chance she never would see him again. And that thought to bear was not possible. The kiss would ruin her forever, stick with her for the rest of her life and in her naive thought also in the next. Bel was strong and she would live with it. When this was the only thing she could have from him she had to take her chances.

Deepening the kiss Randall finally let go. No restrictions. Fine curls of smoke floated out of his back and fast the blue had come to live spreading now and when Bel hummed and held tight around him his wings came around her. Wrapping them both into a soft embrace like a blanket would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you still enjoy this story. It's not the best... as I can't concentrate on it as much as I want. Please comment!  
> Thanks, update as soon as possible!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel has left. How will they both deal with the situation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, quicker update this time!   
> We slowly get to the turning point of this story and toward the end. I am not sure if you'll like what I have in mind for the story but with that chapter I've decided for a path. 
> 
> I thought long and hard about it, but as I have it planned out it might be the best at the moment.

Bel had started crying the moment she had sat down in her car leaving the ground of where Randall's cabin stood. Letting a sad and devastated Randall behind, who stood in front of his house. 

Looking into the back mirror Bel saw him follow her with his gaze, his wings fluttering in the cold wind. For a second she thought he would also dissolve into smoke like the wings and disappear like a dream. He didn't.

When she had left the driveway, passing the sign for private property, she started to cry even more and from there on she couldn't remember how she got home or if she was able to stop crying once. The only thing she knew was that she was still sniffing when she got home, opening the jammed door to her apartment.

"Bel,...," Randall had murmured between the kiss, holding her close, "May I write you? Please?" They both had known that kiss wouldn't change anything. She would leave. He would stay behind. 

Nevertheless, Bel had felt he didn't want to let go, nor she wanted, but there was no other way. "Oh, Randall!" she had exclaimed, placing a hand on his chest. 

The warmth of his wings made the decision even harder but aside there was curiosity to it the drama of it all was stronger. "I... I... Give me time," was all she could say. Forbidding him to write, for this, she wasn’t strong enough.

And then she had pushed herself away and jumping into her car. 

 

Randall had stood there while the cold had started to sent shivers through his body while watching Bel Rowley drive away. It hurt in every fiber of his body. In his bones and his muscle which were tense and without strength at the same time. In his head and foremost in his heart.

The only reason that had stopped him to tell her that he was in love with her was the pain he would trigger with it in Bel. She had to suffer enough already and so he kept it a secret.

What would have it changed anyway? Bel wouldn't have stayed. She was a tough and independent woman who's future was in London with a carrier and a possible family. Not with an old, useless idiot living in exile. He had to let her go.

#

In the next six month it was Hector Madden who noticed the most that Bel rarely smiled, let alone laughed, and when, it was just out of politeness, underlined with dead eyes , all emotionless. It hurt him for a reason he couldn't place a finger on.

With time he had deduced that Bel had found out about Randall, having visited him only to come home alone. 

Had there been a row? He didn't believe in it; she would have acted differently. 

Had there been a heartbreak? He was quite sure of it. 

His approaches to talk with her about it, she ignored, and after a few times he gave up on it - at least for the moment. 

Instead, he called Lix Storm one day, purring out that he was worried about their friend.

"It's something she has to deal alone with, Hector. And obviously wants to deal alone with. Let her be."

It was not the answer Hector wanted to hear, "Is there nothing I can do?"

"I don't think so. Keep me updated. And keep an eye on her," it was the only advice Lix could give. 

She had moved on with her life. Without wings. Away from Randall, the Hour and her friends. It was a good life now and there was nothing she could do. Randall was old enough to have learned enough from life to make a decision. And there she was sure, the final decision wasn't made yet. Not by him or by Bel, but that was just a feeling in her guts.

#

Bel kept working late from there on, noticing that Hector was worried and sometimes toddled around her like a homeless child. He was worried and she appreciated it but she wasn't in the mood or the constitution to talk with him about it. And so she dodged any beginning conversation with changing the topic till he gave up.

She stood up early and came home late. Cleaning her place a bit, making some dinner and then fell asleep.

In the morning when she came to the office she took care of making coffee for herself and ate something. Aside she wasn't that hungry she knew that it was important to eat and drink. If not she would fail in her job, have a breakdown probably and then she had to spent all her time at home. With the thoughts free torture her.

Every morning it was the same rite. Coffee. Breakfast and then she switched on the computer and the mail program. Tense and nervous waiting, more afraid, that a mail from Randall would have come in. But there was no mail or any sign of life. Randall had read her plea very well.

Nevertheless, after six months Bels batteries were beyond empty. She needed a break from work and London. It had become a blazing summer and for the first time since a very long time she thought about doing a vacation. Maybe on the continent, the Middle Sea. She always wanted to see Venice or Marseille.

When Hector knocked at her door, she clicked the page with different offers for a holiday away with a sigh. She would postpone the decision to the upcoming weekend.

Again he strolled around as of not to know what to say but it was only that he didn't know how to say it. Bel let him, not having the energy to bark at him what it was, and that he should calm down again, that she was okay. So she started to sort her things on the desk while he walked to one of her pin boards, to the one in the corner with all the little articles about wing carriers and kept glancing at it. 

From time to time he did so, not saying anything about it. He didn’t comment and she never asked, only noticed that he used to see when there was a new article and he read every one of them with interest. Then he usually turned around and asked something show related.

This time it was different. After a while, he pointed at the papers with a finger, the other hand in his pocket, "I don't want to sound teasing but,” he glanced at Bel with a soft smile, “but you are a bit like a female Fox Mulder, aren’t you?”

Bel was so astonished by the comment that she rose her head staring at him and laughed up, “What?”

It made Hector happy she laughed, even it was at him and not because of a good joke. He made a gesture, “Well, you not really believe they have wings, don’t you?”

Bel rolled her eyes, Hector had probably read one of those counter articles that told people that wing carriers didn’t exist and they were all insane. Bel never had met anyone of those people, as most just didn’t care about the topic and she never had thought Hector would ever go on about the topic. Maybe it was the last straw he tried to pull to get through to her, she thought.

“Listen, Hector,” Bel started, looking at the watch, “I try to take that as a compliment, but I really have no energy left to discuss this now. Since years you stand in front of it and never say anything and now… why now? Oh, don’t tell!” she walked to her locker and got her coat out. Hector observed her and then turned his interest back to the articles.

“I don’t know. It’s a bit like with the UFOs, isn’t it?” Bel rolled her eyes unseen, “All those nerds, .. I mean believers and nonbelievers, but most of the people just don’t talk about it.”

“You don't want to drag wing-carriers down to the level of UFO’s, don’t you?” the look Hector gave her, as if she was insane, made her indulge into the discussion. 

She threw her jacket away over the desk and walked up to him. The corner was small and a lot of articles were pinned lose over each other. Bel searched around the papers till she found what she was looking for. An A4 paper she tugged from the wall and held it in front of Hector. “And you call this what?”

It was a blurry image of the past cabinet minister a few years ago who had once good chances in becoming the next PM. It was taken the day his future had been sealed by the outburst of his wings. Someone had shot a blurry picture on his smartphone before an ambulance had taken him away. Not the best quality but Bel could see the lilac wings clearly and so they were proof enough. Hector couldn’t deny it.

“A man having a breakdown,” Hector took the picture, shrugging. “I remember it, I was there Bel! It happened on the floors of the parliament, he seemed unwell all day. We did a live interview with the MP short before it happened, and I remember him breaking down.”

Bel started at him in shock and wonder, “So, you’ve been there, and... “

“I am telling you, that this man has no wings, and just had a sort of heart attack,” Hector chuckled, he believed in a joke by now. “I would have noticed wings, wouldn’t I?”

Bel  looked at the picture. No, she wasn’t imagine this, there were wings, “No, wings…”

“No, wings,” he smiled at her, and Bel could see it was indeed what he saw and believed. "See you later, Fox," he smirked and left after that.

Bel clutched the picture against her chest. Something was about to happen, she couldn’t grasp what but it was happening. Quickly she reached for the telephone. There was a question she had to ask Lix Storm.

 

#

With Bel’s leaving Randall began to torture his wings. Keeping them inside even when they nagged him, even when they started to pain him. He didn’t give in, he not wanted to give in. In his opinion Randall was not allowed to give in, not allowed to live a painless life after what he had done to Bel.

The procedure was every time the same. When the pain was unbearable and the wings demanded to be out, they forced their way out of Randall, what felt like something ripping through his skin. Sometimes it was so painful he got unconscious. 

He couldn’t play the game forever but he was willing to give it a couple of months. Randall fell into a hole of nothingness. He quit his job for the newspaper and in an act of battling with his wings he more or less accidentally destroyed his laptop.  

It would have been easy to get a new one, but he wanted to avoid to give into the urge to write Bel. In doing so he only would make things worse. Sure she had a hard time but he was confident that after awhile she would regain control and be back on track. An email only would do her harm, and so he let go of the idea. 

Sometimes he sat in the corner of his bedroom, his wings once more having the upper hand, stretching, while he mused what would become of him. He was in the mid of his fifties, and he knew he couldn’t go on like this for the rest of his life. One day he probably would find his sane mind again, and return to the routine of living in exile as he had done before Bel had appeared. 

He often thought about Lix and that she was now a free women, freed from the burden of the wings. Not that he ever had the feeling it had been a burden to her. On the other side, she kept them secret the same he did. It made him mad not to know the reasons of her losing them.

Three months he battled with the wings and then decided to get in control of his life again. It started with setting a certain time to wake up and a certain time to go to bed, and in between he took care of his house and the little acre that was behind it. Maybe he was able to grow some potatoes or at least some herbs. Not that the ground and the earth were very promising but he could at least try and would be busy with mind and body.

He lived from his supplies and as he wasn’t a big eater he didn’t visit the town for quite a while. In this time it was just him, the house, the ground underneath his feet and the sky above him. Giving up the fight — or as he told himself postponing it — his wings were out all the time. He ignored them and at some point, when he was digging a hole with his own hands in the ground, or when the first sapling seemed to grow, what made him incredibly happy, he forgot them. For a second or two it felt as if… they were gone, but every time he looked, he found them in place.

Assuming he slowly got crazy over not being around other people he used to shake his head about it, before moving on with his daily plans.

With time Randall understood that it made no sense in punishing his wings. It only could end in tortureing himself. That it made no sense in battling at all. 

It was more clever to come okay with them and also with the life that was ahead of him. The thought of getting a new computer crossed his mind briefly and of course with that to get in contact with Bel. At least see what she was doing, if she still was with the Hour. 

The little newspaper would surely give him a job again and with all that he might work up an ordinary life.

With the thoughts it got summer and Randall found his new hobby of gardening pleasing and aside a few of his projects didn't came out as good as hoped there were many which grew. Not as good as with better earth but he was okay with it.

He spent the longer days with walks and three times a week he walked to a little lake just four miles away and tipped his feet inside. It was too cold to swim -- at least he didn't dare to hop into the  water, aside having heard some people enjoyed such temperatures.

It was on one of those wandering around days when Randall returned to his cabin, his wings out, softly fluttering in silence as if they enjoyed the sun too, that out of nowhere a man with a little van stood on his property looking at him expectantly.

Dark hair, in his thirties and wearing a uniform. The mailman.

Randall, who, after his return, had got out a few of his potatoes, stood like in shock by the porch, his hand covered with the soil. Suddenly a cold shudder went through him and his wings stopped moving.

Knowing it was already too late he still sent the signal at them for a retreat. It usually worked with a thought or a twitch with his shoulders but when he did so nothing happened. 

His wings had been out for three months straight and now when he wanted to order them there was just a dull feeling in his head. 

Like having forgotten something important. 

So it was. Randall had forgotten how to conceal his wings and at the same time his wings had forgotten that there used to stay inside of him for a quantity of time.

The man, maybe fifteen meters away, still didn't move, just looked over to Randall and so he expected the man to step back to his car only to drive away in shock or whatever people feel when meeting a wing-carrier and not being Bel Rowley.

"Are you," a jolt went through the man looking down at the board in his hands," Randall Brown?"

Randall frowned. What was going on?  “Uhm... That's... me."

The guy laughed relieved, "Man, I thought I'll never find you here," the man came closer pointing at the van, "I have a bunch of letters for you. The lady in town told me, after you didn't show up for months, to check on you. She was a bit scared you've died or something." He chuckled and then opened the door reaching for a bundle of paper. Not much, as who would write him? Randall could have imagine that the lady would be worried sooner or later. But he had forgotten about it, not worrying.

The man came closer and held out the letters, smiling politely at Randall who didn’t reach out to them. Instead he stared at the younger one, in disbelief, wondering why he didn’t say anything. Why there was so no reaction at all.

“Sir?”

Randall finally reached out, “Thank you? Do… do I have to sign somewhere?”

“Nah,” the mailman smirked, “I’ll make a note, and tell the lady you are okay. She told me she had written you a mail…”

“Yes,” Randall slightly turned with his upper body. Maybe he couldn’t see the wings, but aside a quizzical look nothing came from the man. “My… my computer broke and.. I forgot that…,” slowly Randall stretched the wings to its full extent.

“Ah, I see,” the guy shrugged and was about to turn. “Happens. I’ll tell her you are fine. Have a nice day!”

Randall hesitated, but then made a few quick strides forward, "Do you not see them?" it sounded way too desperate as intended.

The younger one turned around, "See what?" for some reason that was beyond Randall he looked into the sky and because when someone looks up to something he did to. The clouds were big, white and thick. Maybe he thought Randall was talking about the weather.

"Nothing," Randall turned back to him. 

When the van had vanished a jolt went through Randall, pacing inside to get the keys for his car. There was something he needed to know.

The man hadn't ignored Randall's wings. 

No, he simply hadn't been able seeing them.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already started with new chapter and hope to update in a week again! 
> 
> Leave comments of what you think! Thank you!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall and Bel on research and discovery tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. I am rubbish. I wanted to update ages ago, and now this. I wrote round this chapter forever, and was actually quickly finished but never found time and moment to clean it up. I battle with the fact not finding enough time for writing and the daily fear not finding time and motivation to bring this story to an end. This story suffers under all my pressure, but what can i do?? I think this one will be finished in max two chapters. 
> 
> I also hope this chapter explains a bit more about wings, in the comments there where theories why wings show or not, and I think there is a truth that is different for everyone. It's not a "because of a and b you can see them or because of d and e you lose or have them". But I hope my motivations and ideas of how this all works are clear.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

 

The lady from the post office was pleasantly surprised when Randall out of a sudden stood in front of her, after she had closed the office for the day. "Oh, Mister Brown! I was worried about you, gosh,... You okay? You look a bit... shaken up."

Randall had waited in his car, windows only open an inch so fresh air could get in. The AC blasting against the head, while he waited for the woman to come out. Of course he could have just hop out his car and walk round but for some reason he needed someone he knew for this.

And so he stood in front of her. The blue smoke curling around his shoulders and stared at the woman waiting for a reaction.

"Tell me you see them," he spoke and got a frown back.

“See what?" the lady asked, putting the keys back into her purse.

Was it true? Did indeed, as Randall had theorised over the reaction of the mailman, that most people couldn’t see his wings. “The Wings!"

"Wings?" there was a thought in progress. "Do you mean the birds?"

Now it was Randall who was flabbergast, "Birds?"

"The poor things always crash against the window of Mister Snyders shop. Break there necks or one of their wings,” she pointed down the street where the shop was. “I told him to put on one of these silhouette posters. You know the one that shows a big bird."

"Yes…,” had everybody gone insane now? "I mean..." he stretched the wings and felt something break inside of him. The woman couldn’t see them.  “I am sorry, I bothered you, I… thanks.”

Slowly Randall retreated and went back to his car. There was a decision to make. A path to choose.

#

Lix had stood up to close the door to her office after she had taken the call from Bel. After Bel Rowley had asked her something, she couldn't quite believe, let alone think it was even a reasonable question.

"Have you ever considered that aside from a few other, no one, and I mean no one can see your wings?" Bel had come right to the point. No chit chat, straight out with it and Lix Storm needed the time to stand up, closing the door and come back to let it sink in. To get a grip on it and what it would mean.

"Bel? What are you talking about?” the older woman was confused, unsure — and that had happened not much in her life. “You know I don't have them anymore.”

"When you had them... How many people did you show them to?"

Lix felt uncomfortable. Being all brusk and dominant in her life, never too shy to hold back with her opinions, she had never had made a fuss out of her wings. Something too personal. Not for the majority.

Bel pressed, “Lix? I wouldn’t ask if it wouldn’t be important.”

"Randall, of course. A few others maybe. They... all wing carriers."

"Did you ever show them someone who wasn't?"

Lix thought about it. She always had been careful and had always been lucky that she was in good control over the extensions. Not like Randall who battled so much with them.

"Bel, it's nothing you show around like a new pair of shoes. You of all people know it," Lix knew Bel wouldn't be satisfied with the answer, and so she gave in. "A decade ago... A kid. But that's it."

"A kid…," Bel mumbled. Like she had been one when she had met the man in the woods.

"What is this about? Why do you say that people are not able to see them? Is this true?" finally her curiosity got the upper hand.

"Yes."

"How do you know?" there was an urgency in Lix’s voice while she came to the conclusion that all those years there maybe never had been a reason to hide.

"Lix, I know you now want to know more, but at the moment... It's complicated... I will call you back,” she hung up before Lix could answer back, feeling sorry. But she wouldn’t have been able to explain it to Lix. She was still trying to understand it all herself.

Hector wasn't able to see them. Herself was. And there were others. People who wrote news about it. And then the wing carriers themselves. 

Why was that so, that some saw them and some not? Bel had seen them first as a child, and Lix had told her about a child too. This couldn't be all, but it was a good start. 

Another question was why Lix had lost hers? It was the one question that bugged her since she had found out. Because there was a path hidden for Randall's healing. It meant there was a chance. For them both.

Bel stood in front of the many articles she had collected over the years. There were times she had taken better care of her archive. The last year she had her problems not giving much attention to new articles, and so she turned around to the laptop and decided to give herself an update.

Quickly she found the usual pages and forums that were filled with information and ideas. Nothing was reliable, and so she tried to find articles written by credible sources like a journalist or someone who wasn't completely nuts hiding also behind a weird nickname.

After a while of digging, she found a blog. At first sight, it wasn't about wings and wing carriers at all. It was about politics, and then Bel found an article about the incident she had talked with Hector about. There was no picture, but while reading, she came to the following sentence

_ "People say the man was exhausted, having heart problems, retiring from his duty. There are others that believe in something else and how ignorant can we be when we not at least give the possibility a chance?" _

Bel frowned at the monitor. The owner of the blog was a man called Frederick Lyon.

Immediately she googled him and found a picture of a man who looked younger as he was. Probably in the mid of his forties. A youthful look, his temples already greying. In his eyes laid a challenging gaze. The man knew what he wanted. 

With the picture, she came to other pages on the Internet. An archive of articles about wings and carriers. A side someone had to search for and not only over Google, but Bel knew her sources and ways.

A good handful was written by Frederick Lyon.

Over his blog, she found an email address and that he lived in London. There was something in her guts that told her to get in contact. So she opened her email program and typed a message down,

_ "Mister Lyon, I came across some of your articles of wing carriers. I need to know your opinion of a theory of mine. Maybe we could meet? Bel Rowley" _

She hit sent with a brief streak of hesitation and didn't expect a quick answer, but when she came back from the ladies, a notification blinked on her screen.

She got mail.

_ "Miss Rowley, that you mention those articles is telling me you invested a bit of time and knowledge, but please be advised that I get such emails at regular intervals. There is no theory I haven't heard yet. I can assure you; wing carriers are not aliens. Not possessed by the devil or Jesus Christ’s spirit. It's not torture or a gift. And most of all it is not pure imagination. Thus shall answer your questions. F. Lyon" _

_ "Mister Lyon, can you see them? Because I can. They are in beautiful lilac. My work colleague was there that day and didn't see anything. He can not see wings, and I need to know why. For most, I need to know how to make them disappear forever. Bel Rowley" _

With that, she attached the picture she had shown Hector.

It didn't take long when an answer arrived:

_ "There is a café on Camden Street. Called ‘Blue Box’. I'll be there tomorrow at five PM. Better be on time. Lyon" _

Oh, how Bel Rowley wouldn’t miss this appointment for anything in the world.

#

Like in the picture, Frederick Lyon was indeed a man of youthful appearance. His hair, grown long that the strands fell into his face and eyes, showing only slight the first shadows of grey. Round his lively eyes, all a dark brown, one could spot the first fine wrinkles. The consequences of long nights in front of a computer, frowning and brooding.

He sat in the middle of the well-lighted café, legs crossed, a white shirt under a jacket with a loose tie. He was clean shaven, but something told Bel he had have not much sleep recently. She could see the pack of cigarettes in front of him, and also the sign in the back that it was forbidden to smoke.

Frederick Lyon was no one for playing by the rules, but he accepted this one.

He made no offer to stand up when she entered, but he raised his chin in appreciation. 

As Bel had known it was him, he had known it was her. She was sure he had also done some research before.

Without asking she settled into the chair and let her eyes travel around the cafe for a moment. It was well frequented, and for a stupid reason, she had expected something else.

Lyon read her mind, "Did you think we meet in the back of a bar. Where they do forbidden gambling and kidnap little child's?" he was amused and so was Bel.

"Not exactly," she held her hand out, and he shook it with a boyish grin. 

"Coffee?" he asked, and when she nodded, he asked the waiter to bring her a cup and him a coke. Then he placed a hand on a few pieces of paper in front of him, "Impressive little works here." It didn't sound like a compliment but also not like sarcasm. "Funny, I've never have heard of you before."

Bel leant back into the rest of the chair, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow, "Funny because I haven't heard of you either."

It made him laugh, and then he brushed a strand of hair out of his face before he leant forward, "I am not sure what you expect from me Miss Rowley, but I can assure you whatever it is, you will be surprised that it is not it."

Bel was unsure how to take that comment and then decided to go straight forward, "Why did you agree to that meeting with me then? It seemed it was something I wrote."

Again he chuckled, "My persona is no secret. People who want to find me, find me. And people with the...  _ right  _ interests know to follow the paths. Most of them know nothing, just some crazy theories right out from the telly. It seemed you knew a bit more like the usual crowd.”

"So, am I right?" she asked him.

"With what you think you are right, Rowley?"

"People can't see them. Some can, but.. but most can’t," maybe it was the way she said it, a bit desperate, a bit far away that made Frederick Lyon reconsider her motives.

"But you are not sure because that's why you are here. You want to know what I think. What makes you think I believe the same? You've read my works, I never theorised on that possibility."

"No, indeed not. But there was this one sentence in your article about the minister. That some say, it was exhaustion or a heart attack while you asked the question of what if it was something else."

She saw he was close to simply pull out a cigarette for a smoke — she was on the right track.

He smirked, knew she read him well. Maybe in another time, they would have been a good team, he guessed. She was capable, and he was ventures.

"What if so? I mean for how long do they exist already? The wing carriers. Mh?” he didn’t wait for an answer, his hands playing with the pack of cigarettes. “Decades and generation not able to figure out the easiest thing in the world? That most of those stupid pudding brains can't see the wings? So why bother? If there are ten people in the room and nine can't see them why bother hid my wings? Would the one who can see them not be blamed as mad. Tale teller? A liar?"

Bel was impressed by this man. His way to think, to use words, his presence. She wished Randall would be here. He would like him, maybe.

"I don't think it is that easy, isn't it?”

"So, what is it then, Bel Rowley?" he leant forward almost agitated and for a second Bel thought it had been him seeking her out for the answers and not her him.   


Maybe it was indeed so.

Bel glanced at the cigarettes, thinking. She had given up smoking years ago before she had started it really. 

"A rumour," she then said after such a while that Frederick Lyon had been close to telling her he had better things to do.

His eyes twitched, "A rumour?" He felt she was on the right way.

"People are stupid, Mister Lyon," she shrugged."What did you say? Nine out of ten can't see them? So logic demands the tenth person can be seen as liar, mad, storyteller? But people aren’t logical. People are sheep, and if there is one with just a whiff of charisma telling the others it’s different — and we leave out if it is true or not —  the others will start to follow."

Frederick Lyon’s hands detached from the pack of smoke, close of clapping, "Oh, Miss Rowley, it seems I have underestimated you," he made a gesture with his hand, telling her to go on.

"A rumour so dangerous, that's why they would care and keep it a secret."

"They are afraid,” Lyon now took over. “And when the wrong man is afraid it can influence a whole nation. To be scared doesn't need scientific proof. It only needs a rumour. Fake news, Miss Rowley. Fake news!"

"But..." Bel thought about Lix, "they can lose them again, can’t they?"

Frederick leant back in his stool, smiling at her with a frown, "Now you are the storyteller, Rowley. Of course not."

Why was he certain? There was something else he knew, afraid to share.

"No, I know someone-"

Like someone had flipped a switch Frederick Lyon jumped up, the stool close to falling over. With rage in his eyes he pointed a Bel, "-you know nothing! Hear me? Nothing! It's not possible. You have them, and when you have, you have to die with them!"

Bel knew she should be afraid and slightly she was, but something told her she was safe and Frederick Lyon made more a show. Nevertheless, she felt threatened. How could someone so deep in the topic deny the facts? Not even listen to her.

By now people looked at the couple that seemed to have simply a fight, and Bel glanced shy around. Not the first row she had in public.

"Frederick..." she better had kept sat down to de-escalate, but instead she slowly stood up, holding a hand in front of her as if there was danger in delay. "I can prove it. A friend of mine-"

"Oh, you shut up! " he hissed. Both his hands gripped the tabletop in front of him. He was angry and even more as that. There was something about him, a sort of unhappiness, Bel noted.

"Thirty years," he then said, and Bel failed in catching up. Lyon made it easy for her, and after a visible shudder had gone through him, his light green wings spread wide in the cafe.

Bel taken aback looked around. Some people still watched them, but none of them seemed to bother with the wings. Bel was number ten out of the ten as it seemed.

"30 years they are my burden!" Lyon growled. "I studied them to extend, I know more as anyone else and believe me they do not just go away."

For another moment they both watched each other as if there would be a high noon. Then Frederick shook himself out of his anger and with that the wings disappeared.

Only then he bothered to look around, check the situation, but they all kept quiet and so Lyon quickly put some money on the table and then grabbed Bel by the arm to leave with her the cafe.

Bel was all in turmoil, getting her arm free when they reached the outside, "You have a serious problem, Mister Lyon!"

Finally able to smoke he only snickered, "Of course I have, you just saw my problems."

"I don't mean that," Bel snapped.

For a drag he looked at her, "You do believe what you just said, right?"

"There is a friend, she had them for so long and then... One day - gone."

Bel knew by now this to say was like burning a sacrilege for Frederick Lyon, and slowly she understood why it made him angry. The man who had researched them for so long and obviously had them since his youth. What did something like that with someone who hated to be patronised, wanted to be free in self-decision. Bound by wings, he would have sacrificed his soul or eyesight to get rid off.

"I... I... No,” he smoked nervously, not wanting to give in. “They don't go away like that."

Bel placed a hand on his arm, "I think, they actually do... But there is a sacrifice to make."

"I think I made enough sacrifices already!"

"It's the easiest of them all, but also the hardest," Bel spoke on, now soft, in hope to convince the man.

"Why you?” he stepped a bit back. It did not want to get into his head. “No wings, nothing, and you want to have figured it out?"

"It's always easier for the ones standing afar, but I admit I wouldn't have found out without you and someone I really care about."

"Maybe it's just a naive idea then because you want to save this man you talked about. It’s always a man, or woman, don’t look at me like that. I am not daft,” he pulled a face. “Because you want to believe there is a future. I always had my own theory... " he broke off. He had told himself the story too often, and by now Bel had made him start to believe that had been just a lifelong lie.

Bel wanted to know, "What theory?"

"You still want to know? Why? Haven't you found your own explanation? Why bother?"

"Please."

Lyon hesitated. Not because he didn't want the tell Bel, he even liked her by now. Thirty years was just a very long time. Then he decided it made no sense to be that stubborn. With a chuckle, " A few years back, I came up with the bloody theory that wing carriers maybe have to die a little to come back to the world of no wings. " He took a drag from his cigarette staring into the far and nothingness and then concentrating his look back to Bel and added, "Or simply a bit more as a bit."

“Is this a metaphor, Mister Lyon?” she asked a little bit shocked.

Frederick Lyon laughed up, “Better it is one, right?”

"What if...it’s the opposite?" Bel suggested. Frederick frowned. "Live a little. Come to an understanding with them. Let them go and see what will happen."

“Is  _ that  _ a metaphor?” he asked with an eyebrow raise, only to add, “That would be... frightening simple, wouldn't it?"

“It would be."

"This world is not ready for wing-carriers, Miss Rowley,” he shook her hand for a short moment. “And maybe I ain't too. Good luck and good day."

Bel kept standing in front of the cafe for a while. Watching Frederick Lyon disappear in the distance in a group of people.

She wasn't sure what the meeting had brought her. A few more hints, a few more question marks but also a stronger feeling that she was right, that there was a solving to the riddle. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I brought Freddy Lyon back! A bit different but I liked how the dialogue with Bel turned out and giving him his wings was a momentous decision while writing. 
> 
> I don't make promises anymore about the next update. Except I will update. Thanks for your patience.
> 
> Side Note for people who are interested in my fics as books; I am about to put the Randall/Bel fic "All we have is lost" into book form, what means, if you are interested you can shoot me a mail via the email address in my profile. Most of my long term fics are available as books and can be purchased for six to ten Euros each plus shipping.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this last chapter Bel and Randall's story gets wrapped up. Sacrifices will be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry. But finally, at last, I managed to wrap this story up and finish it. I don't know what was going on, but I was so busy with so many projects and feel so ashamed that I needed that long for the last chapter and the whole fic.   
> I hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy and thanks for the reading and the patience.

 

Maybe it had been Bel's fault. Looking back at it, she couldn't tell, and it wasn't right to get devastated by it.

The truth was, she had been distracted, not paying attention to the traffic or anything around her.

The sun was rising on an early morning, still standing deep, filling the street with orange light.

Looking back at the moment, she remembered she had to raise her hand to shield her eyes from the light when hearing her name called from across the street.

Called urgently, explained by the fact that she was about to step into a cab that should have brought her to work.

Why a cab, she wondered later, but she had missed the bus and wasn't willing to wait another ten or fifteen minutes and so when seeing the black car come down the street she rose her arm in reflex.

It was one of those days that had gone all different anyway. Almost missing the alarm, Bel's hand collided with her favourite coffee mug, throwing it down the floor. It shattered in two solid pieces. 

Maybe she could glue it back together she thought while cursing her clumsiness. The following was her being too late for the bus, and Bel deciding for a cab.

Indeed, looking back at it, if she hadn't had such a chaotic morning at home she wouldn't have heard her name called.

Things would have gone differently. The small truck that was on its way to the local bakery to pick up goods for some business firms wouldn't have been there. The driver was later stating he had been unable to see anything, because of the sun. Admitting he had gotten distracted by a group of school kids, not having seen Bel Rowley step in a mix of shock, surprise and stupidity on the street.

It should have been Bel, paying for her second of a thoughtless reaction. The victim of traffic and carelessness. Just one more in the statistic. But because it was one of those mornings, it wasn't Bel's body laying on the pavement.

It was the one of Randall Brown.

  
#

 

“You are okay?” Hector had only wanted to ask about an article, now standing in her office, looking at the blond, who sat at her desk fiddling absently with her phone. A face as long as a fiddle.

Bel rose her head, “Do I look okay?”

Hector came closer, stretching the word, “no.”

“Then it makes no sense in lying to you about it, I guess,” Bel gave it a sarcastic chuckle, spinning the phone once again.

“So you are not okay,” a statement Hector wanted to use as a starter, but it made Bel flip.

“Of course I am not! I mean, why should I be okay? And why the heck is everybody else okay?” one of her hands shot into the air, and she rose from her chair with it. “It’s so not okay, that you are all okay!”

Hector couldn’t suppress a smile, “Wow, I never thought I hear you use the word okay, so often in one sentence.”

“It wasn’t just one sentence,” Bel snapped and turned around to the window, knowing she was having too much coffee in her veins, too less sleep and was on edge for a very long lasting while. “Sorry.”

With a shrug, Hector dismissed her reaction. They were friends. He knew her well, too well almost, and as he was not dense, he knew why Bel was so agitated. 

Since a while, her mood had changed. Since a couple of weeks, she seemed restless, always looking like she wanted to say something, do something, only to retreat - looking like a fish snapping for air and then kept quiet.

She had started to fiddle with things, and it remembered him way too often about a particular Head of News. A man he hadn’t seen about 1,5 years, and yet it seemed he was constantly present. Not that Bel used to talk about him, but it was like a print all over her.

Hector could see Randall Brown was always on her mind, and that a bit ago something must have happened because he had thought she was about to forget him and then there was a new fire in her eyes. A glim. Difficult to describe.

Nevertheless, Bel had taken down all the newspaper articles from her wall concerning wing-carriers.

“You’ve lost interest?” he walked over, pointing at the empty wall, noticing that he almost sounded disappointed.

Bel turned, regarding that too, looking first at the wall, then at Hector. “No, not exactly.” At some point, she simply couldn’t see it anymore. Getting reminded, again and again, making Frederick Lyon’s words echo in her head. Having it up there, would have meant never to get rid of the urge to do something about it all. It would have made her want to jump up and run away. 

Hector was about to dismiss all of it and wanted to leave. He was already late anyway, he had to be in the makeup in 20 minutes and before he usually got himself a coffee and a cigarette.

He couldn’t say what it was, but something stopped him when he was at the doorframe and made him turn with a certain verve as if some conclusion had hit him.

Bel turned her head when she heard him turn - his shoes always making a strange sound when he did so.

"You.. You believe in it? Those wings, don't you?"

Bel didn't know how to react at first but decided to stay with the truth, "Yes. I do."

Hector considered her; he knew Bel now for a few years. She was intelligent, open minded and usually not easily convinced, let alone into nerd-news. "It's ridiculous, and yet I wonder why of all people you believe it. There must be a proof then."

"There is, but…,” Bel noticed how tired she was. Mentally. It was tiresome to keep believing. In wings. In Randall. It was over 1.5 years since Randall had left, and already six months since she last had seen him.

There had been new revelations that had brought a sort of hope with it, but the long time before it now came to claim the price. It had been her who hadn’t give up on Randall in all this time. Her who had gone through the struggle of a search to find him, her who had risen the courage to sit in a car and find him. Her who found the will to leave again.

One possibility was to make Hector sit down, and explain it all to him. From start to the end. Bel was sure she could convince him at last.

Yes, she could, but she not wanted. It was the emptiness, fed by sleepless nights, by worries and hopeful looks to the telephone or into her email account that only got followed by a bitter feeling that made the emptiness fill up the most of her being.

It was hard to believe Bel realised. In the end, it probably was too hard.

“But?” Hector offered, curious what she would say.

Bel pulled out her phone, like the last straw she checked for missing calls. It was Tuesday, and a late afternoon and the producer was tired, “but,... it doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

Hector gave it a sigh. It sounded final. His exhalation and her words. And so he let go. “You should go home, you look as if you could need some rest,” Hector nodded and then decided to leave. Maybe one day she would tell him, but he didn’t give it much chance. Hector Madden was a filou, a man for adventures, but in the end a realistic one.

With a soft groan, Bel collected her things and her purse and shut off the computer screen. Somewhere she had read that it sometimes was easier to let go instead of holding on.

A glass of vodka, a bath and a good sleep might help her to feel better in the morning finally.

Passing by Sissy who sorted through some papers at the reception desk, she wished her a good night, and followed down the corridor to the elevator, pressing the button. She watched the digital field above the doors, telling her that the lift was one floor above her.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a phone rang, and when she noticed it was the one by the reception desk she turned, watching Sissy answer the call, while the lift arrived.

For a brief moment, while the elevator doors opened, Sissy’s and Bel’s eyes met, and something in Bel told her that Sissy would call out for her boss any second. 

And indeed, “Miss Rowley!”

Bel was already stepping into the empty cage, “Make a note, I’ll call back tomorrow!” her hand was still resting on the door, so it wouldn’t go shut. It wasn’t unusual of coming in calls that late. She knew that the important people had her cell phone number, for important messages, and so the person on the phone either call her there or had to wait until tomorrow.

Sissy was a clever girl, a bit clumsy in the beginning but she was a quick learner and had done good work for The Hour, and because she was that smart, she knew that this phone call simply couldn’t wait.

While Bel’s hand dropped down, giving the door free, she saw that gleam in Sissy’s eyes, the way her free hand came up. And when the doors had closed with a clang, the Name Sissy had spoken in a hurry brought the adrenalin in Bel’s body into kick off.

“Mister Brown!”

Her flat hand landed on the buttons, her fingers hectically pressing the “Doors open” round, but it was too late, the lift was already on its way down. At first she banged with the flat hand against the cold metal door, when she realised what she had to do instead. Quick thinking, Bel pressed the next floor to come up. It was only seconds, but it felt like an eternity and when the door was open again, she jumped out of the cage and paced to the staircase around the corner.

Silently she doomed the high heels she was wearing, cursing under her breath. “Please, don’t hang up, don’t, just-” Bel burst through the door, finding Sissy still holding the receiver and looking at her boss like a deer in headlights.

For a moment Bel could do nothing but stand there and stare at the young girl while catching her breath. Her lungs hurt, and for a short blink, she told herself she had to do some exercise once again and then she read Sissy’s face.

“I am sorry, he… he hung up,” the girls said, knowing somehow it wasn’t what Bel wanted to hear. “I told him the elevator was closing, and then he hung up.”

Bel stepped up to her, “Did he say anything?”

“No,” the receiver landed back in its place, “he asked for you and nothing more.”

Bel’s eyes fell onto the display of the phone, hope already rising, but Sally took it quickly away, “The number display showed nothing. Unknown caller.”

“Christ!” she was certain to break out into tears right in front of her employee. Something she did not want to let happen, and she fought with everything she had left against it. “Six months!” she exclaimed, and Sally must feel accused of facts she couldn’t put into place.

“Miss Rowley, I am sorry," Sally assured. 

“I know. I am sorry, Sally,” Bel turned away from her, looking down the corridor, where the doors of the elevator went open again. Empty, almost. Her bag was still in there. “Good night, Sally, and again, I am sorry for my outburst.”

The young girl said something more, probably that Randall would call again, or some other reassurances, but Bel didn’t hear it anymore. Her body slumped against the metallic walls of the lift; her head fell back. She had to get home and somehow she would. She wouldn’t remember how because all her being was now on autopilot, but she got home safely.

Hector would have taken her into a firm grip by her shoulders, shaking her to senses. Asking in agitation all those questions she wasn’t able to ask herself. Why now? From where the call might have come or if he would call again. The news anchor wasn’t there, and Bel was way too empty to put effort into those sort of self-destruction.

Bel fell asleep quickly, her mind blank, like knocked out, only to wake her up at three in the morning out of a strange dream.

Standing on an empty street, fog hanging in the cold air and the weather all grey. All the cliches there that could be in a dream. For some reasons, she had such dreams sometimes. She guessed it mirrored her insecurity she felt with her life from time to time.

A wind rose at some time as usual. Soon Bel would wake up, but this time it was different. The wind brought something with it. A whisper at first. Forthwith she perceived it as her name. A familiar voice calling out for her, but every time she turned, it came from another corner of the street. Just the voice, but no person.

When a hand came to grab her by the shoulder, her name loud in her ear, “Bel!” she startled awake, certain it had been Randall’s voice.

In the end, there was no Randall. Instead, it was dark and lonely, and Bel started to apprehend what that phone call could have meant. A farewell or a try to reconnect, but as she hadn’t taken the call, Randall probably thought she didn't want to hear of him. There was a huge possibility that she never would hear from Randall Brown again. The cautious creature he was - they both were.

Tears, she had forbidden herself back in the office with Sally, now streamed uncontrolled down her face, and to silence her sobs, she collapsed into the pillow, crying herself to sleep.

The rest of the night tittered between restlessness and deep sleep. A couple of times Bel jolted out of her sleep, believing to have heard something, only to fall back into a slumber. And then, shortly before she should get up anyway, sleep hit her hard.

For full fifteen minutes, she didn’t hear the alarm on her phone, and when she did, she reached for the phone all tired and clumsy, only to push against her tea mug. Before she realised what was happening she heard the thing shatter on the floor. The small rest of tea, spilling over the carpet.

“Shit,” she mumbled, feeling devastated and exhausted. “Shit, shit, shit!” Pressing the alarm clock shut, Bel knew she wouldn’t be able to be in the office on time. Not when she wanted to clean the broken mug away and to take a long hot shower she so needed to revitalise herself when she wanted to survive the morning.

For a second her head dropped back into the sheets, and she thought about calling in sick. 

No, that wouldn’t be good, she thought. Work would keep her busy. Exhaust her but keep her alive in the end. At home she only would start to tear herself apart, because of the missed phone call. So she got up, and tumbled into the bathroom and the shower. Indeed it helped and by the time, she quickly ate a few bits of croissant and had cleaned away - with deep sadness, as it had been her favourite — the destroyed mug, Bel felt as if she could master the day.

When she stepped out her door, she was late and knew the bus she usually took was gone ten minutes ago. She checked the environment. It seemed to become a beautiful day, the sun was going up and filled the streets with yellow, red and orange light. So very unusual for London, Bel thought. It was slightly chilly, and she was too lazy to wait for another bus, so when a cab drove by, she thought it was the best idea to hail one and be all lavish about it.

Her bag under her arm, she stepped up into the streets to walk a bit down the road till she would get hold of a cab. The fresh air would do Bel good, she thought and so let two or three pass by, till she reached the spot by a newspaper stand where she briefly scanned the headlines.

Nothing new, just the usual trouble and catastrophes in the world plus a scandal here and there.

Lost in thought, only the honking of a horn in the distance reminded her to get on her way to work finally. Giving the man in the box a quick smile, she stepped around the staples of newspapers and scanned the busy streets.

A few youngsters, waiting for the bus to school, made up a cheering noise while pranking each other. Across the street stood two transporters, unloading their goods for the stores in the street. One discussing loudly with an approaching traffic warden.

So many people, Bel mused, all so busy. This city was getting full, and for the first time, she found the idea of looking for a job or at least a weekend place to stay outside London pleasing. It led to the remembrance of Randall’s little cottage. Again a cab passed, and Bel let it pass, while she asked herself if she would be able to live a life like this. Take care of herself all alone, having to chuck wood and - worst case - heat water up for a shower.

“Yeah,” she told herself all convinced, and then she felt sad again because here she was back again with Randall Brown in her head… and heart.

In the corner of her eyes she saw a cab come down the road and in reflex she rose her arm before she rose her face while making a step forward.

Looking up, she found herself staring across the street, and when her eyes had fixed on one point, her heart skipped not only one beat. Her breath stopped. Warm and cold waves rushed up and down her spine, and her stomach seemed to turn and toss inside of her.

From time to time she had that sometimes. A hallucination. An image clear as day, only for a second, to vanish in a blink. A face in the crowd. All too familiar.

Bel blinked. The image didn’t vanish and her hand sunk, while she made another step forward, leaving the pavement.

Randall stood there, his eyes pinned on her, and when he saw Bel finally had spotted him, one hand shot in the air.

“Bel! “ he had called for her several times, but she hadn't heard as it was too busy in the streets and he had been too far away.

Now he tried to find a way across the broad street only to be blocked by an approaching car.

“Randall...,“ Bel muttered stepping forward. Her heart was now beating hard in her chest, and one hand landed absently on her jacket, afraid I would find a way out of her core. She still couldn't be sure if he weren't just a trick of her mind, and when the car blocked him, she was sure he was gone.

Then he appeared again, visibly unnerved by the event but when he saw her again a smile appeared on his face. He was glad. Happy.

A sigh similar to a laugh escaped Bel and then the cab she had wanted to use stopped right in front of her making her cry out. She could have sworn it was just an inch and the car would have rolled over her feet. “Damn! “

“You wanna get in or..?” the driver hollowed and earned a glare for his driving skills.

Before Bel could react otherwise, someone else took the opportunity and jumped into the car, and it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Bel! “ Randalls sound of voice brought her back. By now he stood in the middle of the street. Cars passing by in front of him and his back.

1.5 years vanished at this moment for Bel Rowley. The only thing that stayed was the moment Randall had caught up with her, when she had tried to leave back at his cottage, to pull her up into a yearning kiss. 

The sleepless nights, the sorrow and disappointed hopes between that moment and the moment here in the street vanished like fog in the morning when the sun comes out.

Four long strides it would have been between Randall and her, and Bel needed to be at him to assure herself that he was real. To lay hands on him, grab his arm, touch his face. So - all thoughtless - she stepped forward. From one side she caught up with the still playing kids, and it made her head turn for a second, seeing two children trying to juggle with two apples. Where they got the apples from she wondered, one foot in the air about to land on the ground again, when she heard the honking of a car way too close to her.

When she turned again, the bag was about to drop down, while the image of the nearing transporter got burned into her memory.

‘So close,’ it crossed her mind, and it wasn’t the car she meant.

 

Randall - of course - had seen the vehicle a tad earlier, calling out for her, because she had been distracted, but instead of her checking the street Bel got fixed on him, about to cross the street without looking. How careless of both of them, he considered the moment, only to make it good again in an instant.

Later there would be an old lady, close to ninety, stating that she saw the man, the later victim been enveloped in blue smoke. ‘A blue something’ able to carry him those last meters in a time of nothing. People would shake their heads about that - because she was ninety and blue smoke didn't exist. 

Randall grabbed Bel by the arms, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments. One of those moments that felt like forever. His wings widely stretched, and he could see Bel didn’t know what was about to happen.

Almost blinded by the blue gleam, she only realised she was falling when it was already too late, and her body met the pavement away from the truck.

Pushing Bel aside was the only thing he was able to do. There was not enough force to bring himself into a safety zone. Not that there had been any plan, aside from saving Bel. He had reacted on instinct and the hope that he would be able to rescue at least one person that day. In the motion he turned, his wings making a swift drift, wrapping around him and then the high front of the transporter hit Randall hard.

 

Cars stopped. The kids became silent. The vivid life in the street came to rest from one second to the other, and when Bel slowly rose again, understanding what just had happened, the life came back with a single cry for help. A woman telling people to call an ambulance.

The man from the transporter stumbled out, in shock, mumbling incoherent sentences about god, and help and that he hadn’t seen anything. The sun. The bloody thing had been blinding him.

Randall Brown laid a few meters in front of the car on his back. One arm slightly stretched away, the other hand resting on his lower abdomen. A circle of people building up, not yet grasping what tragedy was going on.

Bel glanced around, she saw a few people calling for help on the phone, and she saw a young man falling down to Randall’s side checking his pulse and for injuries. In the distance already a siren blaring, probably just a coincidence but who knew?

“Let me get through!” Bel stumbled to her feet toward the crowd. “Please!” and people stepped aside and watched the young woman drop to his side, across the young man who gave her a quizzical look, having hoped for an ambulance man.

“He has no pulse,” he told her, and Bel looked at him and then at Randall.

Later in the police report stood, that the man with the name Randall Brown, 54 years old, had no visible signs of an injury besides being hit frontal by a heavy car. The paramedics that arrived only minutes after the accident would later tell they had never seen something like this. No bleeding, no head wound, not even a scratch. His glasses neatly on his nose. Just the body laying there. No pulse, no breathing. A bit like a painting.

Reanimation was done immediately after arrival and went on for long minutes. It was also stated, that a young female blonde kept by the man’s side and denied to leave, one hand always holding his.

 

It was like in dull dream for Bel, looking down at the man she had missed the most and probably had loved the most in her whole life, now with no sign of life in his body. Like he was fallen into a deep sleep it looked like, wearing the same grey jumper Bel had seen him last in it. His hair tousled; it already had been when she had seen him standing in the street.

‘So close.’

“Please!” she bowed down to his face, first tears building up in her eyes, her lips close to his ear. “Just,... please!”

“Check for a pulse, will you!” the second paramedic advised the first, who had pressed Randall’s chest constantly up and down. He did so, only to look at his colleague and Bel shaking his head.

Bel looked down, ready to feel sad and overwhelmed. Willing to give the facts the room they wanted to have. A second passed, then another and then it wasn’t grief that washed over her, it was anger. She shoved herself aside his body, making the two helpers move away, and then grabbed Randall’s hand, and the other she placed on the spot where his heart should beat underneath.

“How dare you, Randall Brown!” it earned her quite subtle looks. “Stop being stubborn and stop dying here! Hear me?” her fist landed on his body. “After all this, you owe me!” And then she hit again, and again, and like a barrage, her hands collided with his lifeless body.

Nothing.

At last Bel’s head landed on his chest, wailing. 

 

When Randall had called in the office the other day he had known it was already very late and the chance given Bel was already at home. Maybe they would give him her home number, but when Sissy called out his name, he had the scene literally in front of his inner eye. That she didn't want to talk with him anymore, but when the night had come, he woke out of a strange dream. Bel, in the distance, calling for him.

Without thinking, he had jumped up, dressed and got into his car to drive back to London like his life depended on it. It sort of did.

The moment he had found her in the streets, a mere coincidence, he felt the happiest since a very long time. He had reckoned with much at that moment. That she would send him away or tell him that she had found someone else. Even that she would forgive him, that she would be happy to see him again.

Now he was laying on the ground, with no heartbeat and therefore dead.

Then...

The breath of life went through him as if being shot into him from a short distance. With open mouth he sucked in the air, his upper body coming up as being pulled by a string, only to get cut and let him fall back to the ground. Randall was able to cushion the fall with his arms.

When Randall had come up, Bel got scared for the life of it, having heard one single heartbeat in his chest before a cry out of his mouth told her what was happening. Both the paramedics shrugged back, staring at Randall Brown as if they had seen a ghost.

His hands on the ground he stared around, only to lay eyes on Bel, who was shocked as every other person in the street.

“You came back…,” it slipped her.

Randall pressed one hand against his chest, feeling a strange pain there, but never leaving Bel with his eyes. With a smile, he answered, “Of course. You were always on my mind.”

“Sir, you … better keep sitting!” one of the paramedics watched Randall slowly stand up. “No, really, you had a terrible accident. We can’t-”

“-I am fine,” he said softly. “Everything is fine now.”

Bel was quickly in his arms, touching his face. Like a shy couple, they exchanged quick kisses, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the circle of people watching them. Some of them having had pulled out their phones now filming.

“Your wings...” Bel whispered, wanting to tell him all about it. About Frederick Lyon and her assumption about all of it.

Randall brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, slowly nodding, walking to the edge of the crowd, to find a way through it toward home, “I know. You were right. But,” Randall turned one last time, looking at the spot where he had lain. A fleeting smile crossed his face before he turned back to Bel. “I let them go.”

 

One of the more curious facts in the police report was not that there was no blood, neither on the victim nor the ground, but two dark, strange looking stains on the asphalt. Not rain nor time seemed to make them vanish, and here and there some people swore when the light was right when the sun stood low they shimmered in a strange blue.

Even a year later, when Randall passed them, not because he was curious, but because he came home from work to the apartment Bel and he now shared, he still could see them.

Once he passed a mother with a young girl, a toddler, and the kid just stood there, looking at the stains, “Look mummy, wings,” but the mother wasn’t aware, and so the child turned, and suddenly Randall was the centre of her attention. “Have you seen the wings?”

“Yes,” he answered, “I know. They were mine once.”

The girl gave him the most considering glance over he had ever seen, but he was able to keep a straight face. “Were? Did you lose them?”

“No, I didn’t,” Randall felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was Bel. Randall rose one finger to the child and answered. “Brown here.”

“And here is Brown also,” she teased back, and Randall could sense her proud smile. Exactly like he did at the same moment, “I need my Head of News back in the office.”

Four weeks after his return, she agreed on marrying him. Or maybe it was him who agreed, he couldn't tell. 

“Oh, is a crisis coming up again?”

“Way better,” she laughed up. “Hector just stated live on air, in colour and with sound, that our Prime Minister is an idiot.”

“So?” and then it dawned on Randall. “In the personal interview, directly into the face of the PM?”

“Yes,” Bel confirmed. “But he is right, isn’t he?”

“Oh, hell he is, nevertheless, love,” he smirked. “I’ll better come back as advised

 

“See you in ten,” Bel hung up.

Lowering his gaze again, the child was still standing there like a model pupil, both eyebrows raised, “What happened then?”

Again Randall looked at the spot where he had almost left his life and not only his wings.

“Well, in the end ... they let me go.”

 

End.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic. I know there is so much potential I wasn't able to use, but I hope I was able to finish this story in a good and pleasing way.
> 
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment!
> 
> Till the next story, when ever this might be.


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